


Working for Joy on Overtime

by ciel_vert, theopteryx



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Community: bandombigbang, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-11
Updated: 2010-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciel_vert/pseuds/ciel_vert, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theopteryx/pseuds/theopteryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is a top player in the music industry, once the champion of the underdog, now responsible for manufactured pop on the radio. He's in Los Angeles for the biggest label showcase of the year when his star band turns supernova and completely implodes (possibly taking his job along with them). Frank's got no time and no options, but he does have a little bit of luck left in the form of a chance encounter with Hollywood Boulevard's own Gerard Way. But what happens when he mixes pleasure with business? A <i>Pretty Woman</i> AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working for Joy on Overtime

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with [](http://theopteryx.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://theopteryx.livejournal.com/)**theopteryx**
> 
> Thank you to our seriously wonderful team of betas, [](http://mrsronweasley.livejournal.com/profile)[**mrsronweasley**](http://mrsronweasley.livejournal.com/), [](http://brooklinegirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**brooklinegirl**](http://brooklinegirl.livejournal.com/) and [](http://strobelighted.livejournal.com/profile)[**strobelighted**](http://strobelighted.livejournal.com/). Each of you helped immensely, and this story would not have happened without you. And a big thank you to [](http://fleurdeliser.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fleurdeliser.livejournal.com/)**fleurdeliser** , for your patience and understanding. We love you! Title from "Tristan" by Patrick Wolf.
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://anytimeinmyhead.livejournal.com/4019.html).
> 
> **Bonus Tracks/Enhanced Content**
> 
> **Fanart:**
> 
> [Three Pieces](http://community.livejournal.com/anytimeinmyhead/2437.html)  
>  by [](http://silentdescant.livejournal.com/profile)[**silentdescant**](http://silentdescant.livejournal.com/)  
> [Two Pieces](http://community.livejournal.com/anytimeinmyhead/2184.html)  
>  by [](http://music-medicine.livejournal.com/profile)[**music_medicine**](http://music-medicine.livejournal.com/)
> 
> **Fanmixes:**
> 
> [Walk On Back To Me](http://community.livejournal.com/anytimeinmyhead/1918.html#cutid1) by [](http://bexless.livejournal.com/profile)[**bexless**](http://bexless.livejournal.com/)  
> [Though The Winds Of Change Will Blow](http://community.livejournal.com/anytimeinmyhead/1918.html#cutid2) by [](http://silver-etoile.livejournal.com/profile)[**silver_etoile**](http://silver-etoile.livejournal.com/)

"Take it again from the top. I want you to run through the set and I want it clean this time. Start with 'Stardust Kisses.'" Frank looked up from his clipboard to the stage and caught Jenna looking at him, smiling uncertainly and clinging a little to her bass. He tried to smile back but it mostly came out as a grimace.

The band sucked. They _really_ fucking sucked. Frank normally didn't care - they'd sell, and he'd had his producer do enough work on their demo that you couldn't even tell they could barely hold their own instruments upright - but they were headlining Kingston Records’ annual showcase that Saturday, and he really needed them _not_ to suck. Or, at the very least, to stop fighting. The rest – the talent – could be manufactured. After all, that was Frank’s specialty.

They were halfway through the first chorus when Mark fucked up the key change which threw Laura's singing off, auto-tune be damned, and Frank winced. Laura stopped singing in order to scream at Mark, Shaun stopped drumming and Jenna stopped playing and started screaming at Mark too, before Frank could run interference.

"You dumb fuck, get it right for once! You're making me sound like an asshole up here!" Laura yelled.

"Everybody stop fighting and try it again!" Frank yelled, cutting Laura off before she could get started again. Jesus, these kids were giving him a fucking migraine. He motioned to his assistant.

"What can I get you, Mr. Iero?"

"Excedrin and a bottle of water. And possibly a gun."

Megan looked at him strangely. She was new, didn't really get his humor. Or at least his weak attempts. He raised an eyebrow. "Just the pills and the water, please."

"Right away, sir," she said and walked away. Frank sighed. This was going to be a long day. The start of many long days. He'd fought for the headlining spot at the showcase, and won, and he had his entire reputation (and probably his job) staked on this. A fact that The Walter Cronkites had apparently _completely ignored_ in lieu of being complete little _shits_.

Shaun kicked off the song again but Laura immediately fucked it up, screeching in frustration and throwing her microphone to the floor.

"Laura, what the fuck-" Mark started, throwing his hands up in the air.

"I can't do this!" Laura said, pointing at Mark. "You keep fucking up! You fuck up every fucking time! How can I sing if you can't even fucking play the notes right?"

Frank quickly made his way to the stage and hopped up the steps to get in the middle before this could get any worse. "Guys, stop, fucking _stop_. Let's start it again. Laura, listen, you have the synth hooked up already, you just have to match the key-"

"I don't like that key! You can't tell me how to sing," she said, crossing her arms in front of her. "I lead the band, I get to make the decisions about-"

"Excuse me? You don't lead this band," Shaun said from behind his drumkit. "Last time I checked me and Mark were the ones who started this and you were the one who got in because you lied in your craigslist ad."

"Yeah, and I'm the one who made it actually happen and booked our gigs, way to completely leave me out," Jenna said, getting closer into the huddle.

"I'm the singer, I'm the _leader_ ," Laura said.

"Yeah, well, have fun leading a band without a drummer, because I'm fucking done," Shaun said, throwing his drumsticks down. "This is stupid. Fuck you."

"Fuck _you_ ," Laura spat.

"No, fuck _you_ ," Mark said, turning to follow Shaun off the stage.

"Fuck you too!" Laura called after them. Jenna turned without saying a word and followed the boys, and Laura hurled more obscenities at them as she chucked a tambourine off the stage towards the exit.

She turned and wheeled back to Frank, her hands in front of her in a weird, desperate grabbing motion. "It's okay, right, I mean, I'm still here, we can still-"

Frank moved back and hopped off the stage, effectively cutting her off. "I have to make some calls." He pulled out his cellphone as he walked, already punching in Shaun and Mark and Jenna's numbers in a last ditch attempt to placate them enough to come back. It didn't work. They were out. They were all out and he didn't have a band for the showcase. Fuck them all, _he_ was fucked.

*

The last person Frank wanted to see when he stormed back into the office was Jared fucking Leto, but the smarmy asshole was sitting in Frank's fucking chair, feet up on Frank's desk, looking like the proverbial cat with the canary.

"Leto," Frank practically growled as he dropped his briefcase onto one of the guest chairs in front of his desk.

"Iero," Jared retorted with one of his trademark smirks that made Frank want to bloody up his nose.

Instead, he silently counted to five before he asked, "What do you think you're doing?"

Leto shifted in Frank's chair. "Oh you know, just testing things out, getting a feel for things. Heard you might be looking for a new job soon, what with your band imploding. Word travels fast."

Fucking assistants and their fucking gossip chain. Frank took in Leto's smug fucking face and his stupid hair and there was no way in hell he was letting this guy take his job. "Man, fuck you, you think I don't have this locked down? You think you could do this better?" Frank moved forward and leaned down in Leto's face.

Leto stood up to match Frank's glare. "I fucking know I can."

Frank smirked at him. "It'll be fun to see you try. Now get out of my fucking office, I've got work to do."

Leto continued the staring match for another minute before walking around the desk and out of the office. Frank exhaled and moved around the desk to sit down. His chair was warm from Leto's ass, gross. "What a fucking dick," Frank mumbled to himself. It would be fine. This was L.A. and Frank knew a lot of people. He could throw something together in four days that would at least impress Patrick enough to keep his fucking job. This was what he was best at, improvising. He punched the button to buzz Megan.

"Yes, Mr. Iero?"

"Get me Greta Morgan on the phone."

"Right away, sir."

He could do this, he totally fucking could. He'd find _somebody_.

***

_Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt._

Gerard groaned and rolled over, pressing his face back into the pillow. “Mnngrh.”

_Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt._

No fucking _way_. He shot a hand out to smack at the alarm clock and kept his eyes closed as he heard it thump against the carpet, silenced. Finally. It was tempting to go back to sleep, really, truly, _deeply_ tempting, but at that point an ambulance siren screeched past the apartment window and his brain throbbed awake in protest.

Fuck.

He sighed and rolled over to his back, slowly opening his eyes. The weird Jabba-the-Hut-shaped water stain on the ceiling above his bed stared back.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he drawled. The water stain, as expected, did not reply.

Gerard levered himself to a sitting position, shifting his legs over and leaning back a little. Good. Not too sore. The carpet was gross and weirdly damp underneath his feet. He coughed once, scratched at the skin underneath the elastic waistband of his briefs, and fumbled for the pack of cigarettes on his nightstand, lighting one up and inhaling before he stood up and headed towards the kitchen.

“Bert?” he rasped around the cigarette. “Dude, did you spill something, or did you get drunk and piss on the carpet again?” He opened the door to the one cabinet in the kitchen and peered in. Practically empty, except for some coffee creamer and sugar. Fridge was about the same. Coffee it was. He fumbled the grinds into the old maker and shoved the pot under the tap before leaning back against the counter and taking another drag.

“Bert?”

No answer.

He turned and squinted back into the dark apartment toward Bert’s small bed. Empty. Either he'd already left or he'd never come home. God dammit. Gerard exhaled a plume of smoke and went to find his fucking phone.

Six tries later and Bert finally picked up on the other end. “Good _morning_ , sunshine,” he slurred. “How’s your ass?”

“Fuck you, you alive?” Gerard said, taking another drag. “And did you piss on the carpet again?”

“Yes. And maybe. I don’t know. Could have been the cat.”

“We don’t have a cat.”

“Don’t we?”

“No,” Gerard sighed. “I’m allergic.”

“Of course you are. Come to Sweet's.”

Gerard sighed again. “Fuck you, Sweet’s. What’s at Sweet’s?”

“There’s a band.”

“Uh-huh. And blow?”

Bert giggled. Gerard could hear the noise of the club behind him, though muffled, like he was answering from inside the bathroom. Gerard stubbed the cigarette out in the chipped ashtray on the counter and immediately lit up another one.

“Smoking’s bad for you, baby,” Bert said. “Gonna age that pretty face.”

“Yeah, and coke rots your brain out and makes you piss on our carpet, you fuck,” Gerard said, exhaling a plume of smoke. “I gotta get to work. You want me to come get you?”

He really, really, _really_ didn't want to get to work, but there were about two days before there'd be a yellow slip from the landlord under the door, and Gerard was not in the mood to move again.

“Aw, man, come on, it’s my night off.” Bert made a sound like he was covering the speaker with his hand, mumbling to someone else in the room. Probably Richard, that sleaze.

“Rent doesn’t take a day off. And we’re out of coffee,” Gerard said, finally pouring his cup into the old, cracked mug with the angry fat kitten on it (it said ‘Not a Morning Kitten’ on it, and it was his favorite). He dumped in creamer and sugar and raised it to his lips, blowing gently across the surface.

Bert sighed. “Fine. But don’t forget to feed the cat before you leave.”

“You got it,” Gerard said, before hanging up and tossing his phone onto the counter. At least Bert was going with him that night. It always sucked worse when there wasn't somebody to cover your back.

A quick shower, shave, a bit of eyeliner, and a pair of pants he had to lie down on the bed to get on and he was ready. He pulled his leather jacket tighter around his shredded t-shirt and headed out the door, locking the four locks behind him. Not that there was anything to _steal_ , but you never knew. It was fucking L.A., after all.

***

Oh, fuck this shit. Frank was already the last label guy to leave the office that night, he _still_ didn't have a replacement band, and now to top it all off, there was a fucking BMW roadster with a goddamn _stick shift_ in the space where his assistant had told him his rental was parked. Frank Iero did not drive fucking stick shifts.

Apparently he was supposed to now, though, and he was also supposed to know where the hotel was when the GPS inside the car obviously didn't have a clue. "Mother _fucker_ ," Frank cursed, as he came across another block he didn't recognize. The car moaned and shuddered beneath him as he tried to shift it into another gear. He just had to be all independent and get his own car this time instead of having to wait on a driver, fuck _that_ idea. When this was over he was never driving in this city again. And he was going to fire Megan. And set Jared Leto on fire. And drink a bottle of whiskey. Maybe all at the same time. He was good at multi-tasking.

The car jerked as he tried to go from second to third and then back to second again. Frank resisted the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel, but only just. There was no way he'd last the week with this fucking car. He just needed to get back to his hotel, if only he could fucking _find_ it.

***

“Gerard! Gerard, _baby_ , sweetheart, sugarlips-“ Bert drawled, throwing an arm around Gerard’s shoulders. “Did you bring me a present? Besides your beautiful face.”

“Kitty’s empty,” Gerard said, shaking his head and stubbing his cigarette out against the tile of the dirty bathroom. He pulled away from Bert and crossed the room towards the stalls, lazily flicking the butt over the wall in the vague direction of the toilet. When he turned around Bert was already back on the counter, leaning against the grimy, sludged mirror and swinging his legs.

“Richard’s gonna be pissed,” Bert said. “End of the month’s coming up.”

“Richard’s always pissed. Maybe Richard wouldn’t be so pissed if you stopped taking his drugs and then didn’t pay him back, man,” Gerard said. Seriously, Bert was allowed to make his own fucking choices, but it would be nice if his choices didn't involve using their rent money for blow.

Bert shrugged. “You know, we could get in on that, he said he'd take us on. The pay is better and you wouldn’t have to worry about –“

“ _No_ ,” Gerard said, shaking his head emphatically. “No fucking way. You want to be in even _more_ fucking debt with that scab?” Just thinking about working for Richard made him want to spit. It was bad enough this was his job, he could at least _pretend_ not to be totally in the gutter, if only for his own sanity.

Bert looked away, up at the ceiling. “Better than having an empty kitty.”

“No, _not_ better,” Gerard said, flicking his ash towards Bert’s swinging legs. “Be your own fucking man. Your choice, your rules, your terms.”

“Well, technically, you’re someone else’s _fucking man_ , babe,” Bert slurred, half-closing his eyes. “And you sound like a bad impression of me three years ago.” He looked paler than usual in the dim light of the bathroom, the fluorescent bulb hollowing out his skin. Did he always look so pale? Gerard couldn't remember.

Bert rolled his head a little to look at him and chewed on the skin of his index finger, grinning. “You look good tonight. Who are you, hm? A rockstar? Starlet? The next big thing?”

“I’ve always been the big thing, baby,” Gerard drawled, tilting his wrist. Bert barked out a laugh, like Gerard had expected, and he grinned a little too. He'd take it where he could get it. "Come on, night’s young, rent’s due, and this band sucks.”

Bert swung his legs hard and propelled himself off the counter, his sneakers hitting the floor with a wet noise. “They always do these days.”

“On that, at least, we can agree,” Gerard said around his cigarette, holding the door to the bathroom open for Bert to pass through and into the dark crowd.

*

The boulevard was loud and filthy. Gerard paced slowly back and forth along the sidewalk, making sure to keep his head up instead of down and watching the cracks in the pavement. Bert always said that people just _knew_ , knew by the look on your face what your game was, and Gerard knew too well that it was true.

He turned and paced back toward Bert, who was already perched on top of the domed garbage can, his legs folded underneath him in a position that was probably only comfortable for him. Bert licked his fingers and held out the remains of the cheap pastry he’d picked up from the convenience store on the corner.

“You hungry?” he asked, sucking the icing off his thumb.

Gerard shook his head. He rarely ate when they were working, and _definitely_ not that shit. The boulevard had a habit of taking away his appetite.

Gerard sighed and leaned against the side of the garbage can. Business was fucking _slow_. A group of girls walked by, too young, too shiny, almost vibrating with energy, fake IDs probably tucked into their purses. Gerard watched them head down towards the Red Parish music venue, a couple blocks away, their arms wrapped around one another, almost like one, glittery, sharp creature.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Bert said, flicking the side of Gerard’s head.

“What, motherfucker?” Gerard asked, ducking away. Bert just jerked his head towards the opposite direction.

“ _That_ , motherfucker,” Bert said, eyes wide.

“Holy _shit_ ," Gerard managed.

A fucking expensive-looking BMW thundered down the boulevard, jerking and screeching at every stop. It came down the street towards them, hastily shifting over to the right lane. Other cars honked at it as they passed. The car made a terrible noise and then slid to a stop almost directly in front of them. Bert shoved Gerard in the back.

“Dude, get _on_ that.”

Gerard just stared. “Oh man, I don’t know-“

Bert shoved him harder. “You got this. Fucking _go_.”

Gerard exhaled, slowly, then rolled his shoulders back and tossed his hair. He had this. The passenger side window was partly rolled down but he couldn’t see who was inside. He walked over (he had this, he _had_ this) and rapped once against the window with his knuckles before peeking inside.

“You lost?” he asked.

***

Somehow Frank had ended up on Hollywood Boulevard. He didn't know how to get to his hotel from here, but he knew enough to know he was really in the wrong neighborhood. It took him a few tries to get going out of the last stoplight and when this one turned green, he almost stalled the car. "Fuck," he said over the obnoxious grinding noise the car was making. He really hoped the company had paid extra for the insurance, because he was pretty sure he'd left half the engine on the other side of the city.

He finally got the car jerked into motion, other cars swerving around him and honking their horns. He jerked the car across two lanes and to the right so he could stop for a second and figure out where the fuck he was.

He was in the middle of punching the hotel address into the GPS _again_ , as if _this_ time it would have a signal long enough to tell him where the fuck he was, when he heard someone knock on the passenger side window and ask, "You lost?"

Frank looked up and saw a guy, a really fucking pretty one, leaning against the side of the car like he owned it. "Um... I. What?"

The guy grinned at Frank like he knew all about the effect he apparently had on people. "I asked if you were lost. Or did you just find what you were looking for?" The guy shifted his weight as he spoke and pushed his jacket open a little, so Frank could see the ripped t-shirt and tight black jeans.

Frank cleared his throat. This guy wasn't being very subtle. At all. Hopefully Frank could get some directions and get moving before anyone noticed and misread the situation. He should have just driven away, but where the fuck was he supposed to drive _to_? "I was trying to get to the Beverly Wyndam-Hillshire. Do you know where it is from here?" he asked, clearing his throat a little.

The guy smirked at him. "Sure I do. I'll tell you for fifty bucks."

Frank barely kept his jaw from dropping. "Seriously? You can't charge for directions!"

There was that fucking smirk again. "I can do whatever I want, baby. I ain't lost." He turned around and leaned his, admittedly hot, ass against the window. Frank sighed. He didn't have time for this.

"Fine, fifty bucks. Where do I go?"

Frank twisted in the seat and fished his wallet out of his back pocket to pay, but instead of waiting for Frank to hand him the money, the dude just reached in through the window, popped the lock on the door, and got in the car.

"What are you--" The guy cut him off by grabbing the fifty out of Frank's hand. "Fifty buys you personal." He gestured up the road. "You'll wanna take a left up there."

Frank sat motionless until the guy poked him in the shoulder, none too gently, and said, "We should really get going." Frank snapped out of it and attempted to put the car in gear. They lurched back out onto the boulevard and got in the left turn lane. When Frank was barely able to get the car through the intersection, the guy said, "You need a hand with that?"

"You can drive a stick?" Frank asked. The engine moaned and shuddered again.

"Some might say it's my specialty," the guy answered, which made Frank's face heat up. "But if you meant on a car, yes, I'm familiar."

Frank wanted to laugh out loud. This was so ridiculous. But fuck it, right? He was in L.A., and if this guy could get him to his hotel in one piece at least he'd have a story to tell later. Frank pulled the car over, screeching to a halt in the parking lane. "Good. You're driving," he said as he quickly got out of the car and walked around to the other side to open the passenger side door.

The guy slinked out of the car and stood in front of Frank. "Are you serious?" he asked, darting a look back to the car.

Frank could see the barely suppressed excitement in his eyes. It was kind of cute. "Yeah, I'm serious. Even with your directions we'd never make it if I kept driving." Frank knew he was being crazy right now, and it was probably just the exhaustion, but anything seemed like a better idea than leaving other half of the engine on the street. And if the guy was lying, well, he'd still probably do better than Frank.

The guy made a weird noise of excitement and darted around to the driver's side. Frank slid into the passenger's seat and watched, amused, as he futzed with the mirrors and clucked his tongue before moving the seat back several notches. "You're really goddamned short."

Frank rolled his eyes. "I prefer the term _compact_ , okay?" he said. If he joked about it, it was easier to ignore the part of the whole situation where he was letting a prostitute drive his rental. He was sure this never ended badly for anyone, really.

The guy didn't answer, just grinned lopsidedly as he turned the key and revved the engine. Before he got them back out on the road, he leaned over and reached across Frank's lap for his seatbelt. The guy's face was really close and he smiled as the latch clicked into place. "Safety first," he said softly, then sat back in the driver's seat and gunned the engine, pulling sharply onto the street.

Frank's hand tightened on the armrest reflexively as the car zipped down the road. "I've always wanted to drive one of these," the guy exclaimed as he turned them sharply enough that Frank almost smacked into his shoulder. "My dad was a mechanic, so growing up we always had all of these cars at the house, mostly vintage ones or pieces of shit, but sometimes he'd bring a newer one home and let us drive them around the neighborhood."

"You from around here?" Frank asked, as he got himself braced a little better in his seat.

"No, I'm from Jersey originally, but I've lived here since I was twenty."

 _Jersey, huh_ , Frank thought, _Small fuckin' world_. "Since you were twenty. How long ago was that?"

The guy shot Frank an amused look and said, "Don't you know you're never supposed to ask a lady her age?"

Frank kind of boggled at him. "But... you're not a lady."

The guy giggled (it was seriously a giggle, Frank was pretty sure he hadn't heard a dude giggle in years). "No, I'm not a lady. As far as you know, anyway," he said, then winked at Frank.

Frank felt himself grin in response, and seriously, this guy was pretty funny and really cute too. Frank didn't really have any intentions of... well, obviously the guy was a hustler, but Frank really just wanted to get back to his hotel. Still, he was pretty tired of referring to him as "guy" in his head. "So do you have a name, Jersey?"

The guy turned and flashed Frank that smile of his. "You can call me Gee."

"Gee? That stand for anything?"

Gee took them around another corner before answering, "Gerard."

"That's a bit of an unusual name," Frank said. Gerard shrugged, like he got told that a lot. Frank cleared his throat. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Gerard."

"Nice to meet you too, BMW. You got a name?" Gerard said, looking over at him.

"Oh, right. Yes. Frank."

"Hi Frank. Can I ask you a question, Frank?" Gerard said, whipping the car around a corner.

Frank felt incredibly nervous, although whether it was from the speed or the impending question it was hard to tell. He managed to nod anyway.

"Why the _fuck_ are you in this beautiful piece of machinery if you don't know how to drive it?" Gerard asked, running his long fingers over the steering wheel. Frank shifted back in his seat, relaxing only a little.

"It's a rental. My assistant got me the wrong car."

"Rental? Assistant? You on a business trip?"

Frank sighed. "You could say that."

"Funny, so am I! But unfortunately this trip is only taking me across town. You sound like you're not from around here. East Coast?" Gerard said, smirking a little. "I know an East Coaster by their cursing at traffic alone."

Frank found it hard not to smirk back. "Based out of New York, mostly."

"I knew it!" Gerard said, punching the air a little. "I can always tell."

Frank huffed out a breath and leaned all the way back in his seat. Gerard seemed to have dropped most of the strut once he realized Frank wasn't going to pay him for anything more than the drive to the hotel, and he was much less intimidating this way, much more like some regular guy Frank had just met. Frank let himself breathe as he listened to Gerard tapping out the beat of the radio on the steering wheel with his thumbs, trying to relax for the rest of the ride.

Except, he kept finding himself staring at Gerard. He was striking, which was sort of strange to think, but it was true. Frank had never seen anyone quite like him before, with his pale skin and dark hair, delicate nose and sharp jaw. He was fascinating to watch, the contrast in his features beautiful, with his almost feminine face and masculine hands. Frank only realized he was spending more time staring at Gerard than paying attention to where they were going, when Gerard turned his head slightly and caught Frank looking. Frank felt his face flush with embarrassment, but Gerard just winked at him, like he was used to being stared at, and turned back to watch the road.

It was only a few more minutes, and they were finally at the hotel. Gerard kicked the car into neutral and put on the brake, then slid out in a fluid motion, tossing the keys to the valet before Frank had even finished unbuckling his seat belt. The valet got into the car and drove it away without even a hiccup from the engine, leaving Frank and Gerard standing on the sidewalk.

They stood there awkwardly for a few moments, Frank not really knowing what to say; he'd never been in a situation like this before. Eventually, he let his professional demeanor take over and stuck his hand out to shake Gerard's. "Thanks for the ride." Gerard smirked again, and Frank winced, going over his words in his head.

Gerard saved him from further embarrassment by shaking his hand and saying, "Anytime." He turned and walked over to the nearby bus stop, sitting down on the bench and lighting a cigarette. Frank hovered near the entrance to the hotel, watching as Gerard lifted the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag. He needed to go inside. Gerard's back was mostly turned to him and he wasn't really paying any attention to Frank at all, just staring into the distance down the empty road.

Frank _really_ needed to go inside. He was so tired, and it'd been a rough fucking day on top of a terrible week in a continually stressful year. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a conversation with someone where they hadn't been a complete asshole to his face, and he'd been one in return. Before this. Before Gerard. Jesus, that was sad.

Frank squeezed his hands into fists in his pockets and watched Gerard take another drag. He shouldn't. He _really_ shouldn't. But in a couple of minutes Gerard would be on a bus and back to the boulevard and some deep, secret little part of Frank's brain wanted him to stay.

Before he could even think about what he was doing, he took a few strides over to where Gerard was sitting on the bench. Gerard looked up at him and his eyes were wide with surprise, the cigarette still poised in mid-air.

"You want me to get you a taxi?" Frank asked. It was the least he could do. That's all. He would just get him a cab. At least Gerard wouldn't have to spend part of his fifty bucks on fucking bus fare.

Gerard seemed to collect himself a little and smiled up at him. "I like the bus at night. It's usually pretty empty and the drivers don't mind if you just ride for a while."

Frank nodded and looked down at his shoes. "So, um..." He paused, scratching the choppy hair at the back of his neck. Fucking, fucking hell, there was no way he could just blame this on being tired, this was some serious shit, there was no way he was actually going to do this. He was just going to offer Gerard bus fare and then go upstairs and forget about this crazy fucking day. "If I were to ask you to come up for the night, how much would that go for?" So much for that. Frank's stomach plummeted down to around his knees, absolutely terrified of any way Gerard would answer.

Gerard's eyebrows shot up almost comically high. "The whole night?" he asked, incredulously.

"Yes." _Fuck_.

Gerard looked at Frank and took a long drag of his cigarette, obviously considering something. Maybe he'd say "no" and Frank could pretend he hadn't just gotten himself into this situation. Gerard seemed to come to some kind of conclusion, and exhaled a plume of smoke out of the side of his mouth. "Whole night's a thousand." He looked at Frank like he was daring him to haggle.

That meant yes. _Fuck_. Frank didn't know how he felt, except that he was kind of numb all over. Was that a lot of money for this? He didn't know. It seemed fair. Maybe. Who cared? Did it even matter at this point? Gerard had said yes. "Okay," Frank said slowly, at least managing to not make his voice come out _too_ uneven.

Gerard looked a little surprised, but covered it quickly. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it out with his boot as he stood up from the bench. Frank wasn't sure what to do, so he just turned on his heel and entered the hotel, focusing on making it through as Gerard followed.

***

Gerard had either just made the best fucking deal or the worst fucking decision of his life. He was too rattled to really tell. Frank seemed pretty legit, and he'd let Gerard drive his car and took him to his hotel instead of some sketchy place somewhere. But nobody who'd ever wanted Gerard in the first place was totally legit.

Frank led the way through the lobby and over to the main check-in desk. The lobby was incredible - lush and clean and shining even in the low lights from the overhead chandeliers. Gerard felt weird and out of place. He tried not to press too close to Frank as he talked to the woman behind the desk and got his messages from the day.

The woman looked at Gerard intensely as Frank briefly flipped though the stack of messages and mail on the front counter. Gerard tried not to fidget and to look like he belonged there, with Frank.

"Will that be all, sir?" she asked Frank, still looking at Gerard.

"Ah, yes," Frank said, darting a glance back to Gerard. "Some room service as well. Champagne and strawberries."

"Of course, sir," the woman said, turning her glance from Gerard back to Frank. Gerard let himself breathe.

Frank tapped the envelopes against the counter and then set off towards the bank of elevators, only darting a short glance back to Gerard to see if he was following.

The elevator was almost completely empty except for the elevator guy (seriously, why the fuck didn't Gerard have _that_ job, Mikey'd always said he was great at pushing people's buttons, he was sure the metaphor worked for real buttons, too) and some middle-aged couple, looking tired and bored. They stared at him as he stepped in, and their shoulders immediately tightened.

Gerard slunk back against the rear wall of the elevator, Frank standing slightly off to the side. The silence over them was fucking ridiculous. He _knew_ that couple was just holding it in until they got off on their floor so they could talk about him.

"Man, I swear, this heat, right?" Gerard said before he could stop himself. Frank jerked like he'd been shoved, but stayed silent. The couple only glanced over and pinched their mouths tighter without saying anything.

"I mean, normally you'd have to worry about chaffing in these tight pants, but I avoid that. You know the secret? Baby powder. Works great in your underwear," he said, staring right at them. "I mean, well, I don't really know that last part, since I gave up underwear for Lent last year and just never went back. You should try it some time. Really freeing."

The couple looked right at him, horrified, and Gerard couldn't help the little thrill in his stomach. Pushing buttons _indeed_. The couple sort of awkwardly stumbled off at the next floor and stared at him as they left. Gerard just gave them a little wave. "Good luck with the chafing!" he said, smiling wide as the heavy doors slid shut.

He chanced a look at Frank, who didn't look mad, but didn't necessarily look thrilled, either. Gerard slumped a little and shoved his hands back into his tight pockets. The elevator guy waited patiently as they rose even higher, and it was only then that Gerard noticed their destination floor. The penthouse. _Fuck_. God _damn_. The elevator went up to Frank's _room_. Gerard had done jobs in some pretty decent hotels (and some pretty okay houses, and some marginally clean bathrooms) before but this was fucking _insane_. His stomach dropped again, humming with nerves.

Frank didn’t seem nervous. Frank probably never got nervous. He probably had people he paid to be nervous for him. Gerard rocked up on his heels a little and tried not to check his hair again in the polished brass backing of the elevator buttons.

The doors finally opened and revealed the hallway leading to the room. Frank held back to thank the elevator guy but Gerard strode out ahead, unwilling to wait, or at least unwilling to look hesitant. There were big potted plants and carpet so soft he could barely feel it under his feet and the doors to the room were these huge carved wooden things (Rose totally would have been able to save Jack from freezing his balls off if she’d been on one of them instead).

Frank quickly punched some code into the little keypad beside the door and the lock clicked open. Frank’s hand was gentle on the small of his back, barely touching, as he guided Gerard inside.

“Fuck _me_ ,” Gerard said, stopping in his tracks. _Jesus_.

Frank smiled a little, but it looked a little hesitant, now that they were up in the room, like he actually cared if Gerard approved. “You like it?”

“Oh fuck _you_ , you know this is incredible.” Gerard strode ahead, out of Frank’s touch, to run his finger over the marble-topped side table next to the couch. The place was spacious, it was well decorated, and it was fucking _expensive_.

“Oh, man, should I have, like, taken my shoes off at the door, or something?” Gerard asked, turning back towards Frank. “I’m probably tracking in the whole Boulevard right now.”

“No, no. You’re fine,” Frank said, still standing by the door, his hands in his pockets.

“Well, good,” Gerard answered.

Frank was silent.

Gerard awkwardly cleared his throat and leaned back against the sofa. “So, Frank.”

Frank was still silent. He was watching Gerard like he was a wasp trapped in the room, less like he was a pest than like he was something dangerous and if Frank didn’t move he wouldn’t be stung.

Gerard sighed and spread his hands out on the cushions. It looked like he was going to have to take the lead on this one. “Now that you’ve got me up here, what are you going to do with me?”

Frank didn’t smile, but his mouth untensed a little. “I honestly don’t have a fucking clue.”

Gerard pushed back off the sofa and took a few steps toward Frank, slowly. “Well. Lucky for us, I’m a god-damned professional. Now before we begin-“

“You want to be paid?”

Gerard raised an eyebrow. "Not to suck the romance out of this whole situation before we even start, but yes."

Frank pulled out his wallet and thumbed through the bills. "A thousand, right?"

Gerard nodded and took the money Frank handed him. Usually he counted it first, but there was something about Frank that made Gerard trust that he wasn't getting screwed, at least out of money. Besides, he was already overcharging. By a lot. He folded up the wad of cash and stuffed it in his jacket pocket.

“Now, the next thing we need to do is have a little discussion. You’re a businessman, so I know you know how this goes. Setting the terms.” He started, keeping his voice light. He didn't need to freak Frank out anymore than he obviously already was. This wasn't Gerard's favorite part either, but it was necessary.

Frank was silent, again. Gerard stepped closer until he was so close to Frank he was almost toe-to-toe. Crowded into his space like this, Gerard noticed just how small Frank actually was, which was weird because he projected so much larger than he seemed. Gerard reached his hand up and ran his fingers up the length of Frank’s tie, all along the underside so his knuckle grazed the pressed shirt covering Frank’s chest. Frank was still silent but Gerard could hear him breathing carefully and deliberately through his nose.

"I only have a few rules. No breaking the skin, no tying up, no marking. Not on the first date, at least."

Frank nodded. "Is that all?"

"I always use condoms."

“Anything else?” Frank asked, leaning closer to Gerard, seemingly unaware of the motion.

Gerard smiled a little. “Yeah. I don’t kiss on the mouth.”

Frank pulled back enough to look into Gerard’s eyes. “Seriously?”

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Fuck no, who do you think I am? All the weird shit I get asked to do, you think I'm not going to kiss on the _mouth_ -"

Frank cut him off by leaning forward and pressing their lips together, almost a little clumsily, and Gerard opened up for him immediately. He wrapped his hand around Frank's tie and pulled him closer. Frank made a little noise, kind of a 'hnngh', so Gerard pulled harder and then used his body to press Frank the few steps back until he was shoved up against the entrance doors.

This was good - Frank was relaxing into it, spreading his fingers against Gerard's waist, gaining the confidence that he could do this, that Gerard _wanted_ him to do this.

Gerard was about to move his hand down, down, down to work on some of those buttons on Frank’s nice shirt when there was a loud knock on the door behind Frank’s head. Gerard’s body jerked away like he’d been shocked, accidentally slamming his back against the bar off to the side. He stared at Frank, frozen.

Frank looked at him sort of dazedly. “Room service.”

Gerard felt his shoulders drop. “Oh. Right.” Of fucking _course_.

Frank pulled his tie back into place and turned to open the door. There was some guy in a sharp little uniform with a rolling tray at the entrance. He ducked his head and came in when Frank stepped to the side. With champagne, apparently. And strawberries.

Gerard tried not to stare. He didn't exactly need to be wooed, here.

“Just put it over there, thank you,” Frank said. The guy wheeled it in and parked it, then clasped his hands gently and looked up at Gerard.

Gerard stared back.

The guy looked pretty uncomfortable. He looked from Frank back to Gerard. Gerard crossed his arms over his chest. “What the fuck are you looking at?” he said, a little harshly.

“He wants a tip,” Frank said, already digging in his pocket for some bills. Gerard looked away so he wouldn’t see how much it was, how much Frank just carried around in his pocket like that. Of course it was a fucking tip. Fucking _smooth_.

Gerard kept staring at the wall until the guy had nodded his head at them politely and disappeared back down the hallway towards the private elevator. Gerard used everything in his control to keep from fidgeting, even though all he wanted to do was run his hand through his hair, maybe hide his face a little.

Frank didn’t say anything, though, just walked over to the cart and picked up the bottle of champagne.

“You hungry?”

 _Starving_. “No, not really.”

“You should eat something.”

Gerard pressed his palms against the bar enough to propel himself forward, slowly circling Frank around the couch, watching his movements as he opened the champagne bottle. Practiced. Frank had done this before. He’d bought room service for people before. Not exactly like this, not with someone like Gerard, but he knew the motions, knew how to retreat back into them.

Frank poured two glasses of champagne and held one out to Gerard, his hand steady.

“Here.”

Gerard shook his head. “I don’t drink.”

The glass lowered a little. “I didn’t put anything in it.”

“I know, I watched you. But I still don’t drink.”

“You don’t drink on the job or don’t drink all the time?”

Gerard shrugged. "All the time. Don't drink, don't do drugs, all that fun stuff." He kept his voice light but didn't care that he still sounded pretty proud. He was proud. At least of that.

Frank lowered the glass all the way and blinked at him a little, like he was taken off balance. Well, good. Gerard didn't mind changing his perceptions, even if they were just perceptions about boys he'd picked up from the street. “Well. That's good, then. Do you eat strawberries on the job?”

Gerard crawled up on the sofa so that he was on his knees, facing Frank over the back. “Only when other people buy them for me.”

“Well, then you’re in luck.” Frank held out a strawberry and Gerard plucked it out of his hands, twirling it a little before sucking it into his mouth and biting down. Goddamn, he hadn’t had a fresh strawberry in _forever_.

Frank watched Gerard and quietly ran a finger around the rim of the champagne glass before raising it to his mouth and taking a huge drink. “You can have as many as you want.”

Gerard paused in licking a bit of the juice off his finger to smile at Frank. “Thanks.” Maybe he could steal some to take home to Bert afterward. Bert would flip.

Frank passed over the bowl and Gerard took it, slowly sitting back on the couch until he was completely sprawled out. He kicked at his boots, toeing them off onto the floor. “So, Frank,” he said, reaching into the bowl and pulling out another strawberry. “What can I do you for?”

Frank came around the side of the sofa and slowly lowered himself into one of the huge armchairs, still just looking at Gerard, his head resting on his hand. “You mind if we just watch TV for a little while?”

Gerard rolled his head until he was looking at Frank, trying to read his expression. Frank still looked a little freaked out. He was incredibly focused on where Gerard was in the room, but hadn't made any suggestions as to what he actually wanted Gerard to _do_.

Gerard was pretty good at reading people. It was part of his job. It might be a shit job but he still had to make sure the customer was satisfied, especially if he wanted to get repeat business. And tonight, Frank was his job. If Frank turned out to be one of the good ones, one of the ones that wasn't interested in taking out their pent-up issues on his face, or whatever, just wanted someone to make them feel they weren't alone, well, then. Gerard could do that too.

Maybe he was just one of those guys who was lonely, wanted to pretend someone else belonged there. Gerard had a regular who paid him a hundred bucks to tell him about his day while Gerard made him a sandwich. Turkey and cheese, every time. They watched _The Daily Show_ together. There were weirder things.

But Frank didn’t seem like the kind of guy who was lonely, or would be lonely for long. He was really, _really_ hot, if Gerard was honest about it, totally the kind of guy he used to take home in college, and he certainly had money, but Gerard had been in this business long enough to know that didn’t mean a god-damned thing, especially when it came to fucking. Frank glanced over and caught Gerard's eyes, just for a second, but long enough to completely disrupt his train of thought before Frank looked back at the flickering screen. Gerard felt twitchy all over, uneasy. He needed to figure out how to play this right, but he was drawing a blank.

They sat in strange silence for a while, watching the news while Frank sipped at his drink and Gerard worked on the bowl of strawberries.

Gerard cleared his throat. “There’s a horror marathon every weekend on the public access channel that’s actually pretty awesome, if you’re into that, or, I mean, we can keep watching the news or whatever-“

“You like horror movies?” Frank asked, picking his head up a little.

Frank liked horror movies. He was _totally_ the kind of guy Gerard used to try and hook up with. It was a little ridiculous. “Yeah, well, I used to be all into that shit but now I just catch it whenever it’s on at Sweet’s. They show it on the TVs above the bar. Haven’t been to the movies in a while. The old shit’s better anyway.”

"That it is," Frank said, leaning forward and picking up the remote. The TV was fucking enormous, of course, and Gerard watched as Frank flipped through the channels to get to the marathon. Frank kept his eyes on the screen and Gerard allowed himself to look over at him, look at him while he wasn’t looking at Gerard.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the flickering shapes on the television screen, casting weird shadows onto Frank’s face. Gerard watched him run his fingers around the rim of his glass again without drinking from it. Eventually it seemed like the tenseness from Frank's body was slowly soaking into the cushions of the armchair, although Gerard was positive that if Frank knew Gerard was paying attention he’d tense up again. Frank moved slowly to place the nearly empty champagne glass down on the end table next to him and then ran a hand through his hair, sighing and relaxing a bit more into the cushions.

About halfway through the movie, Frank's eyes started to close. Gerard tilted his head to watch Frank’s face, not even pretending to look at the TV anymore. He wasn't really sure what he should do; he'd never had a john fall asleep on him _before_ the sex. Gerard wasn't exactly sure what Frank wanted from him, but he'd felt the way Frank had kissed back, the way Frank watched him when he thought Gerard couldn't see, the way he watched his mouth on the berries. He wanted Gerard, even if he didn't really want to admit it to himself.

And if Gerard had to be the one to help Frank admit it to himself, well, then, he could do that. Frank was a _really_ attractive guy, and it'd been a long time since Gerard had thought that about a client, and an even longer time since he'd actually _wanted_ someone who'd picked him up. Frank wasn't from here, but he could be a regular when he was in town. It could be a good thing. It could be a good thing for both of them if Frank would _let_ it be a good thing. He just had to do the convincing.

He waited until Frank's eyes finally closed and his breathing got regular before he quietly shifted his body to move from his position on the couch. Gerard moved slowly, his bare feet not making any sound on the carpet. He knelt down without using his hands for balance, neatly folding into the space between Frank’s spread thighs. Frank just breathed deeply, his head cradled on his hand. Gerard worked on getting Frank's dress shoes untied and off his feet. Once he got them and the socks off, he looked back up at Frank, but his eyes were still closed. He put his hands on Frank's feet (they were very nice feet, he had to say), then ran his fingertips gently around Frank's ankles and then up his calves underneath his dress pants, stroking gently, almost tickling, all the way up to the soft skin behind Frank's knees. This time when he glanced up, Frank’s eyes were barely opened slits. Gerard smiled, then moved his hands up and down again.

Frank inhaled sharply and shifted his legs, his eyes wide open now. His hand dropped to the armrest of the chair. Gerard slid his hands out of Frank's pants so he could run them up his thighs and then around the back of them, where he dug in and tugged until Frank's ass slid down the chair.

Frank opened his mouth, then shut it, like he was about to say something but stopped himself. He stared at Gerard’s hands sprawled around his legs, like he wasn’t sure if he was really awake or not, if they were really there. He looked a bit startled, but Gerard could see the desire in his eyes. It was a good look on him.

“Frank,” Gerard said, moving his hands up Frank’s belt, “you didn’t ask me up here to just watch movies with you.”

Frank just watched his face. His whole body was tense.

“There are some guys who would. But not you. And before I suck more than just the romance out of this situation, again, trust me - I know what I'm doing. Okay?”

Frank blinked at him. “I-"

“Exactly. Now shut up. It’s going to be harder to have a conversation with your cock down my throat," Gerard said, voice low.

If it wasn’t so dark in the room, Gerard would have sworn Frank almost fucking blushed. Good, blushing was very good. Gerard pulled hard at Frank’s belt, and Frank arched his back a little to shift his body enough to help Gerard get it out of the loops. Gerard made quick work of the buttons and zipper and pushed Frank’s shirt up his stomach, leaving it bunched up under his armpits.

Gerard paused to rub his thumbs over the birds tattooed low on Frank’s hips, the bottom of them disappearing under the waistband of his underwear, even more distracting than his quickly hardening cock. _These_ were certainly a surprise.

He leaned forward to taste them. “What are these? Sparrows?”

“Swallows,” Frank said, barely above a whisper. Gerard grinned and hooked his thumbs into Frank’s waistband and pulled down, until his underwear was down and out of the way with the rest of his pants.

“A swallows man, I should have known. How many of these tattoos do you have, anyway?” Gerard asked, kissing his way down Frank’s stomach, skipping his cock to run his teeth over the words inked into his upper thigh.

“A lot," Frank answered, his breath hitching a little. "You see a lot of businessmen with tattoos under their clothes?”

“Can’t say that I do,” Gerard replied, totally impressed. He pressed himself in closer to Frank’s body, pulling Frank's thighs more around his sides. Frank was already half-hard and pretty flushed. Good.

Gerard leaned up and over Frank’s chest, grabbing his tie again to guide his head up towards Gerard’s for a kiss. It was rougher this time, Frank opening for him immediately, and Gerard shifted his other hand to Frank’s cock and began stroking.

Frank’s hips raised a little with the strokes into Gerard’s fist, and he pumped harder. He shifted around to bite at Frank’s ear, the skin on the side of his throat, and Frank gasped and he was finally hard, his whole body practically vibrating under Gerard’s hand. Gerard let go of Frank's tie, letting him fall back onto the armchair. Frank looked up at him with confusion on his face (as well as a nice bit of spit on his swollen lip where Gerard had bit down). Gerard fished around in his back pocket, pulling out a condom and ripping the foil with his teeth, only stopping fisting Frank’s dick long enough to slide it down and over the head.

“You know what they say, Frank. Safety is _very_ sexy,” he said, running a hand down Frank’s dick to back behind his balls, palming and squeezing them gently in his hand.

“Mnnaaagh,” Frank managed, which was pretty much an agreement.

Gerard ducked his head and took Frank's dick in his mouth, licked around the head and slid down. Frank bucked up into his mouth and Gerard could see out of the corner of his eye where Frank's fingers were digging into the armrest of the chair, his fingernails white from the pressure.

Gerard worked his mouth over Frank’s cock, let Frank buck up, and kept his teeth out of the way. When he moved his hand farther back, off of Frank’s balls and down, Frank moaned and grabbed onto Gerard’s hair. Not yanking, but definitely tugging, firm, his fingers caught up in the tangles by Gerard's ears. Gerard moved his fingers, stroking harder, at the same time he swallowed Frank down, his throat taking Frank’s cock as far as he could.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Frank said. He sounded wrecked. Good.

Frank’s other hand was in his hair, now, and Gerard kept sucking until he could feel Frank's whole body tightening up underneath him, right there, right about there-

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Frank moaned, “ _fuck_ , Gerard, fuck fuck _fuck_ -“

Gerard pulled almost completely off before swallowing him down again, pressing his fingers _in_ , and Frank barely had time to get out another _fuck_ before he was arching up and crying out, coming so hard Gerard bet his toes had curled.

Gerard pulled off completely and stroked him through it until Frank slumped back, spent. Gerard rolled the condom off and tied off the end, tossing it towards the wastebasket in the corner. Frank barely moved as Gerard cleaned him up and pulled his pants back up from where they were pooled around his feet. He secretly congratulated himself for another job well done - Bert said his mouth always got him into trouble, but he knew how to put it to good use, too, if Frank's face was any indication.

Satisfied, Gerard grinned a little and thumbed at the wet corner of his mouth. Frank just stared. Something warm pooled around the pit of Gerard's stomach but he ignored it and pushed it down, away.

Gerard squeezed Frank's thighs a little and went to lever himself into a standing position, his legs a little wobbly from being on his knees so long. “Well, Frank, I think –“

“Wait, wait-“ Frank said, sitting up straighter. “What about you?”

Gerard stared back. “What about me what?”

Frank darted his eyes from Gerard’s face down to the crotch of his pants, where Gerard’s erection was apparently making itself known. He'd gotten hard pretty much immediately (and especially when Frank was making those sounds, _Jesus_ ), but he always felt weird about it, unless it was something the client was obviously into. He was tempted to offer to just take care of it in the bathroom (like usual), that it wasn’t part of the deal, but Frank was already slipping his fingers into the waistband of Gerard’s pants, pulling him closer, between his spread legs.

Gerard didn’t know what to do with his hands. They hovered in the air, gently flexing, as Frank tugged him even closer. He thought for a second that Frank was going to blow him right there, while he was standing, but Frank slid a hand around to the back of his thigh and coaxed Gerard towards him, up onto his lap.

Gerard went with the motion and folded his knees up into the over-sized chair, straddling Frank's lap and gripping the back of the chair around Frank’s head. The horror movie on TV was still the only thing illuminating the room and it made it hard to read Frank’s expression. He kept looking up at Gerard like he was waiting for something, but Gerard kept his face carefully blank, trying to get his thoughts in order.

He could push off, if he wanted. He didn't have to do this. He didn't have to let Frank do this. But that low thrum in his stomach was there, had been there, if he was honest, since he'd kissed Frank by the door and Frank had opened up to him immediately. Frank swallowed and Gerard watched the dip of sweat in the hollow of his collarbone, barely visible through his rucked up business shirt. Fuck. _Fuck_.

Frank raised a hand to Gerard’s face and ran a thumb under his eye, in a weird, tender gesture, before sliding his hand around to grip into Gerard's hair and pull him closer for a kiss. Gerard went willingly.

He was pretty sure he could just do this for the rest of the night, make out for a while with his dick pressed up against Frank’s stomach through his pants, like he used to do in college with the boys at parties, but as soon as his mind started to wander a bit he was brought sharply back into it by Frank ripping at the button on Gerard's pants and shoving them down his hips enough to work his hand in and wrap around Gerard's dick.

Gerard gasped into Frank’s mouth. “Oh, hi, _fuck_.”

“Yeah?” Frank asked, pulling away to bite at Gerard’s neck.

“ _Fuck_ yeah,” Gerard said. It’d been a long fucking time since somebody else seemed so determined to get him off, and if Frank wanted to palm at his dick to make himself feel better about paying for it afterward then, well, more power to –

“Fuck _me_ ,” Gerard said, bucking into Frank’s hand. “God _damn_.”

Frank wrapped his free arm around Gerard’s waist and pulled him in to his chest until they were almost completely pressed up against one another, Gerard’s dick rutting against the starched front of Frank’s dress shirt on every pump of Frank's fist.

Gerard's hips jerked again, and again, and Frank was panting now, not kissing him, just pressed against Gerard’s face. God dammit, Gerard was closer than he thought, he was –

“Wait, Frank,-“ he started, and tried to pull away, but it was too late. Frank kept stroking and Gerard’s stomach plummeted and twisted and he came hard, writhing against Frank’s chest, Frank’s arm still wrapped around his waist to keep him steady. It felt so good, it felt _so_ good, so much better than whenever he jacked off halfheartedly in the shower in his shitty little apartment.

When he was finished and could actually feel his face again he sat back in Frank’s lap, panting.

Frank was smiling up at him, fucking _smug_. Gerard knew _that_ expression.

He glanced down at Frank’s chest, any retort he had disappearing immediately. “Oh my _God_.”

“What?”

Gerard pressed his palms to his cheeks. “I came on your _tie_.”

Frank glanced down. “Oh. So you did.”

“I came on your _tie_ , oh my God, Frank, that is a really nice tie and I _came on it_.” Even though this wasn't anywhere near the most embarrassing thing that had happened to him on the job, Gerard still felt completely mortified.

Frank just flipped the fabric a little with his finger. “And on my shirt, too, it looks like.”

Gerard jabbed him in the shoulder. “I can’t believe you let me come on your _tie_. You don’t get to take that out of my paycheck, okay, I _tried_ to warn you, but _no_ -“

Frank caught Gerard’s finger in his palm and gently held it away from him. “Gerard, I promise, it’s okay."

Gerard frowned. “It’s a _nice_ tie.”

Frank shrugged. “I have others. It’s part of the whole ‘businessman’ schtick.” He pulled at the knot until it came undone and then tossed it toward the wastebasket in the corner. “All fixed.”

Gerard rolled his eyes. “Obviously.” Frank probably had storage closets full of nice ties. That he could throw away. After people came on them. Gerard sighed.

Frank squeezed his thigh and shifted and Gerard took the cue, slowly crawling back off Frank's legs and straightening out until his knees cracked. His pants were still undone and he moved to zip himself up, but Frank stilled him with a soft touch on his wrist.

Gerard glanced up at Frank and Frank just nodded his head toward the bedroom. Frank didn’t say anything, just turned away and worked at the buttons of his own shirt as he walked, pulling the shirt off and tossing it on the floor outside the bedroom door. Gerard stared a little at the tattoos scrawled around his hips and into the dip of his lower back, before Frank disappeared into the darkness of the bedroom. Gerard paused only to pick up the remote and turn the TV off before he grabbed the hem of his own shirt, pulled it up and over his head, let it drop to the floor by his feet, and followed.

***

"Of course I know the fucking party is tonight," Frank said, shifting his cell phone against his shoulder. "I'm not a fucking idiot."

"You could have fooled me," Leto drawled in his ear. "I'm sure it'll look real professional when you show up all by your short lonesome. Bill told me that he _loved_ the proposals and the demos I sent him about my new talent. He already mentioned maybe boosting them to the headlining position for the gala on Saturday."

Frank ripped the top off a sugar packet and imagined it was Leto's head. It was soothing to watch the granules dissolve in his coffee. "Yeah, well, tell Bill to tell me that himself, which he won't, because you're full of shit. That spot is mine, I _earned_ that, and don't even try."

Leto laughed. "Whatever, Iero, you just keep crawling up that hill. I'll see you tonight."

"Fuck you," Frank said, and hung up. He sighed and rubbed his hand across his eyes.

"Not before some coffee," Gerard drawled from behind him.

Frank turned in his seat. Gerard was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, wearing the hotel robe with his arms folded in front of his chest. He looked pretty rumpled. Frank tried not to stare. He was pretty sure he was failing.

He turned around and made a jerky motion towards the food on the untouched food service tray. "There's breakfast."

Gerard wandered over and curled up in the chair next to Frank, his long, bare legs up on the seat, heels against his ass. "You already eat?"

Frank shook his head and cleared his throat hastily, unsure as to why Gerard was still making him nervous, given last night. "Not hungry."

"Coffee?"

"Plenty."

Gerard smiled and shifted his chair closer, pulling croissants and eggs and bacon onto his plate. He darted a look over to the side at Frank while he topped off his coffee. "Why did you order all of this food if you weren't hungry?"

Frank shrugged and sipped at his coffee. "You were."

Gerard raised his eyebrows at him as he chewed on a strip of bacon. They made it through breakfast in only a slightly awkward silence, mostly diverted because Gerard was incredibly focused on eating just about everything Frank had ordered. When he was finished he took his cup of coffee and sat back in his chair, cradling it against his chest, his shins against the lip of the table. The robe barely covered him but he didn't seem to care.

"So, Frank," he said, taking a sip of his coffee. "What exactly does a man with all those tattoos hidden under his fancy suits do for a living?"

"I work in the music industry."

Gerard's eyes got huge. "Really?"

Frank nodded, a little pleased at having a job that impressed people. "Really."

"That is so cool. Back, uh, back when I was younger, my brother interned at a little indie record label, and I just thought that was the coolest thing. So, like, what do you _do_?"

Frank shifted a little in his chair. It was hard to explain his job in a way that didn't make him sound like a total corporate asshole. "I...help bands. And musicians."

"Help them how?"

Frank really didn't want to talk about this right now, especially with the after-effects of Leto's conversation still churning in his stomach. He straightened his tie and smoothed it against his chest. "Sometimes bands need help. Being more...presentable. I do that."

"What, like, a stylist, or something?" Gerard asked.

"Well, sort of. But more of an...all-over stylist," Frank said, hedging. Seriously, it always sounded stupid when he said it out loud.

Gerard just stared at him. "But what do you _do_."

"I make sure bands will make it," Frank said, finishing up his coffee cup and putting it down on his plate a little more forcefully than necessary. "I make it for them."

Gerard just sipped at his coffee, apparently ignoring Frank's mood. "Well, I'm guessing you're pretty good at it, then, if you're in this room."

"Yes. I am," he said, trying to not sound smug. He wasn't smug. But he was good at his job. Usually. He chanced a glance down at his wristwatch. _Fuck_. "I have a meeting I have to go to, but-"

Gerard started to shift forward, dropping his feet to the floor with a thump. "I can get out of here in just a sec, no problem."

Frank shook his head. He didn't want to just kick Gerard out like that, dump him back outside the hotel doors. Especially when he'd been so...good. To Frank. He coughed a little and hoped he didn't blush. "No, it's okay. Take your time. You can hang around here for a bit, clean up. The door will lock behind you."

Gerard's hands stilled against the table; he looked completely surprised. "Seriously, you don't mind?"

Frank smiled. "I really don't. There's no rush."

Gerard's eyes lit up a little. "Well... since there's no rush and all, can I use your bathtub?"

"Absolutely," Frank said, still smiling.

Gerard grinned and pushed his chair away. He crossed behind Frank's seat to head towards the bathroom, stopping to lean down around the back of his chair and drape his arms around Frank's neck, his hands on Frank's chest, lips against his ear.

"My number will be by the bed. Call me the next time you're in town and need to drive a stick."

Frank snorted.

Gerard kissed the side of his temple and then disappeared into the bathroom behind him. Frank waited until he could hear the sound of the bathtub running before he let himself slump forward against the table, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyeballs.

What the fuck was he doing? He had to get to that meeting. The meeting about the band he was bringing to the gala on Saturday, the meeting about the band that fucking _tanked on him_. Frank had dealt with shit from bands before, that was why he was in this fucking business, because he _could_ , but there just wasn't any fucking time and he'd already spent the whole morning calling every number in his contact list for a favor. No fucking dice.

Just then his phone beeped. He thumbed to the new text message. It was probably Charles. He had a band that Frank'd been eying for months, and god knows Charles owed him a -

Leto. _Great view in the meeting room. Especially without your big head blocking the way._

Frank slammed his phone face-first on the table. He fucking _hated_ that son of a bitch. He had to be there. He'd lie. He'd make something up. He'd rather get roasted alive in front of his bosses than have Leto think he was too chicken-shit to show up.

He got to his feet and headed back to the bedroom to pick up his wallet from the safe, almost tripping over Gerard's discarded shirt on the floor in the process. He stopped to pick up the shirt and paused in mid-toss towards the bed.

_Like a virgin, oh, touched for the very first time..._

The bathroom door was partially closed but Frank could hear the sounds of Gerard in the bathtub. Singing, apparently. Loud. Really, really loud.

_Like a viiiiiirgin, when your heart beats, next to mine..._

He paused, debating, then quietly walked towards the bathroom, pressing his fingers lightly against the door until it swung open. Gerard was in the bathtub neck deep in bubbles. The big television on the other side of the room was on, flipped to one of the music channels, and Madonna was rolling around on the floor with her tits barely covered in lace.

Frank just stared at Gerard. All that showed above the water were his face and his bent knees. He was fucking singing, eyes closed, no clue in the world that Frank was right there, and he was singing _on key_.

Frank felt like his brain was whirring eight times faster than he could even blink. He twisted the shirt between his hands and watched Gerard's face.

He took a few quiet steps around the bathtub until he could sit on the lip of the tub. Gerard hit the water with an open palm and splashed it everywhere and Frank had to lean back, his dress shoes slipping on the wet floor. Gerard's eyes jerked open at the noise and he gasped, Madonna singing on alone in the background.

"Oh _fuck_ , shit, oh my God," Gerard said, clasping a soapy hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry, I-"

Frank shook his head, cutting him off. "It's fine. You sing a lot?"

Gerard hesitated, then mumbled from behind his hand, "Only when other people aren't paying attention."

Frank kept his hands on Gerard's t-shirt, still on his lap, and willed his voice to stay casual. "How do you feel about singing when people _are_ paying attention?"

Gerard lowered his hand from his mouth, bubbles stuck around his mouth and chin. He looked ridiculous. "I...could do that too."

Frank glanced back to the television where another music video was playing out across the screen, then looked back to Gerard, giving him his best winning smile.

"I have a proposition for you."

***

"Bert, he's paying me _ten thousand bucks_ ," Gerard said, sprawled out on the huge bed. He rolled around some more, tangling the cord around his legs, not even caring. " _Ten thousand fucking dollars_ ," he crowed.

"Jesus Christ, he's aware that he's the one that's supposed to be fucking you, right?" Bert said from the other end of the line.

"That's nothing to this dude. Bert, you should see this room, there's a fucking _bidet_ in the bathroom."

"A _what_?" Bert asked.

"Nevermind. Look, he's fucking loaded, and he said all I've got to do is spend the rest of the week here. There's some big party thing at the end of the week I've gotta sing at, and I've gotta pretend to be, like, his new act, or whatever, but mostly I just get to make him look good."

"You're singing? I can sing. What the fuck, I should have gotten into that car."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "It's not like I'm actually getting a record deal or anything here, he just needs someone to cover his ass-"

"Isn't that what you're there for? Covering his ass? Like, with your tongue?"

" _Bert_ ," Gerard snapped. "Come on, no, listen. He paid me for last night already and I'll get the rest at the end of the week. I'm going to leave some of it down here at the front desk for you to pick up, and I want you to go pay rent and go pay off Richard, okay? Don't spend it on anything else or I'll shave your balls while you sleep."

Bert sighed. "Fine."

Gerard tangled his fingers in the phone cord and tugged. "Good. It's the Beverly Wyndam-Hillshire, okay? Write that down. Front desk. I'm going to put it in your name."

"Got it."

"Good. I gotta run. I have to go buy some new clothes for tonight. He gave me some cash. Apparently I'm supposed to look like a rockstar tonight, or something, some big party thing with all his music label partners."

Bert made a weird, throaty noise. "Can't you use your own stuff?"

"Apparently not. They can probably smell the thrift store. I'm going to go buy some fucking _real_ shit."

Bert snorted. "On his dime? Rodeo Drive, motherfucker."

Gerard grinned and rolled on the bed until he was untangled enough to extricate himself from the phone cord, dropping the handset back into the cradle. He bounced off the bed and fished his pants out from underneath the bed, where they ended up last night, and pulled them on. Frank was gone the rest of the day, stuck in meetings, but he was going to meet Gerard back at the hotel later that night, and then bring him to some sort of party with people Gerard wouldn't know.

He had a pocket full of a cash and a motherfuckin' shopping spree ahead of him. All he needed was his shirt.

He dropped to his knees and yanked up the skirt of the bed, peering into the darkness. He looked in the closet. And the bathroom. And the living room. And the _other living room_. Not there.

Where the fuck was his shirt?

"Where the fuck is my _shirt_?" he said, frowning at the empty room.

***

Frank frowned into his briefcase. "Huh."

"Planning on making this a casual day, Iero?" Leto asked, whispering in his ear. "Or are you just preparing for the day when you're going to be living out of your car?"

"Or maybe I just got invited somewhere after this you didn't," Frank said lightly, pulling out the business folders crammed underneath Gerard's crumpled shirt and placing them on the conference table. He must have packed it in his hurry to get to the meeting this morning. "Sorry, buddy. I'm sure there's plenty around here for you to do."

"Yeah, like _your job_ -" Leto sneered.

" _Iero._ Leto. I hope you have something good to share, since you seem so intent to hiss at one another while everyone else is discussing _actual_ business," Patrick interrupted them from his place at the head of the table.

Leto opened his mouth but Frank stood up, cutting him off. "As a matter of a fact, I do. I have good news regarding the headlining spot for the gala on Saturday, my talent is ready-"

"Your talent _broke up_ ," Leto said. "You don't have anything."

Frank just smiled, and held the silence just long enough to make Leto look like a petulant child speaking out of turn. He kept his hands still and his voice clear. "As a matter of a fact, I do. You'll meet him tonight at the party. You have _never_ seen someone like him before."

***

Gerard wrapped the leather jacket tighter around himself and tried not to squirm at his reflection in the elevator. Fuck this fancy hotel and fuck his disappearing shirt and fuck Frank for being a _tiny_ , silly little man who only owned tiny, _tailored_ little shirts that wouldn't even button over Gerard's chest and that Gerard felt weird about wearing anyway. They probably cost more than his rent for a year and smelled like, like fucking _rich shit_. And _fuck_ his own cheap ass for never fixing the zipper on his jacket so it would actually stay closed.

"The lobby, sir," the elevator guy said, bowing a little as the brass door slid open.

"Thanks, man," Gerard said, slinking out around him and moving quickly through the lobby. People were staring at him, which he couldn't really blame them for, but it made him want to make a break for it. They'd probably have security people tackle him before he got to the sliding glass doors, though. He could see the woman who checked them in last night watching his progress across the lobby, following his steps. It was hard not to skip the last few remaining steps outside and into the morning breeze. Finally. Thank _God_. He wrapped the jacket closer around his chest and sighed. Clothes. _Right_.

*

"Can I help you?" A lady in a tailored, wide-belted outfit asked him. Her bangs were terrible. They matched her face.

Gerard pulled his hand back from where it was brushing over the hem of the jacket in the window. "Uh, I'm okay. Just browsing."

He knew she was looking at the cigarette burns on his jacket, the stapled seam and strip of duct tape that kept the shoulder together. In the dark it made him look punky, but in the light of day, in a store like this, it just made him look cheap, and he knew they could tell. The fact that it was pretty damn obvious he wasn't wearing a shirt underneath it probably did little to help. His eyes drifted away from her face over to the mannequin in the corner. Now that guy had a _nice_ jacket. Black leather, tailored, but kind of like if a space pirate _fucked_ a tailor.

He jerked his head towards the mannequin, unwilling to move his hands from where they were closing his own jacket around him. "How much for that one?"

The sales lady stared at his arms and didn't say anything.

Gerard frowned. "That jacket. How much for that one?"

"I don't think it would fit you," she just said, moving her eyes to stare at his face.

Gerard felt stupid and out of place, like he was getting dirt on everything just by standing there. His hands were sweating crammed in the crooks of his arms. "How _much_ for it."

"It's very expensive."

"I've got money to burn."

"I don't think it would fit. And our dressing rooms are currently closed, so you wouldn't be able to try it on. It'd probably be best to try somewhere else."

Gerard gritted his teeth together. All of the sales people in the store were staring at them. There was a man walking up, some kind of manager, and he just stared at Gerard's face, too, like they were all robots tuned into the same _bitch_ frequency.

"I'm sorry, but could you please show me what's in your hands?" the man asked. "It's store policy."

Gerard just gripped his hands into fists and kept them pressed up against his ribs. "I didn't _steal_ anything."

Both the manager and the woman stared at him. Like he was a dog that'd just pissed the floor, or something.

Gerard's insides felt sick, weighing him down. He silently pulled his hands out and showed them, palms up and in their personal spaces. "There. See? Nothing. _Nothing_."

He could see the security guard by the door carefully watching them, hands on his belt.

Gerard jerked his jacket back closed over his chest and made for the door. "I can take a hint, Jesus," he managed, before slipping back outside and into the too bright sun.

*

"Sir?"

Gerard ignored the voice and kept walking. The lobby of the hotel was less crowded now but people were still watching him go by, and he didn't want to fucking deal with it right now.

" _Sir_ ," someone said again, but Gerard didn't look over.

A woman stepped into his line of vision, immediately stopping him in his tracks. She was the one who had checked them in late last night, some kind of staff, with the dark hair. Name tag said _Alicia Simmons_. Oh, she was the fucking _hotel manager_. Shit. And she was frowning at him. She raised a hand but didn't touch him, but it took a lot of Gerard's concentration not to shrink back anyway.

"Sir, if you please -" she started, her voice serious.

"Don't you ever go home?" he asked, because he had the worst brain-to-mouth filter in the history of the _world_.

Alicia just cocked her head and smiled a little. "Do you?"

Gerard gripped his hands tighter across his chest and didn't say anything.

"Are you currently staying here?" she asked.

"Yes."

"With whom?"

Gerard fidgeted. "Frank."

"Frank?"

Gerard frowned at her. "You checked us in last night. You know his name."

"Do you?" she asked, smiling a little wider. Gerard couldn't read the tone, though, and he felt sick. He should just book it out of there.

"Listen, I'd just like to have a little conversation, if we can, if you could follow me this way," she said, gesturing down the hallway to where Gerard was sure there were offices.

He sighed. " _Fine._ " Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_. He briefly considered making a break for it but she was there between him and the doors, cutting off his path, probably on purpose. _Fuck_.

*

"Now, sir-"

"Just call me Gerard," Gerard replied. He ran a hand through his hair and tried not to shift too much in the seat. Alicia leaned against the wide oak desk across from him, her hands gently resting on the surface.

She nodded. "Gerard. Here at the Beverly we have a certain reputation to uphold-"

"I couldn't find my _shirt_ , oh my god you guys would think I'd whipped my dick out in front of the old ladies or something, _Christ_." The people in this hotel acted like they'd come out of the _womb_ in Armani or something. He hated them all.

Alicia neatly folded her hands in front of her. "We have a certain reputation to uphold. Which, yes, does usually imply a certain standard of dress. However, we also have a reputation for taking care of our important customers. We think less of them like customers, and more like, well, like friends. And we like to make our friends comfortable."

Gerard shifted again in his seat. "I am not very comfortable."

"I can see that. We, however, are not yet friends. I don't believe you have ever stayed with us here before, have you?"

"No," he said, sullenly.

"And I assume that when Mr. Iero leaves, you will be leaving as well."

Gerard crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Yes." It came out through gritted teeth, but he was pretty sure she got the point. "Mr. _Iero_ and I are just _friends_."

Alicia smiled tightly. "I'm sure. And a friend of Mr. Iero's is a friend of ours. I would like to perhaps suggest a slightly different clothing approach if you'd like to not be noticed, which I'm assuming is your intention-"

Gerard uncrossed his legs so his boots dropped heavily on the carpet. "I _tried_. I have all this fucking money and I went down to Rodeo Drive and you'd _think_ they'd had weirder looking people in there, it's fucking _Los Angeles_! There's a guy on the corner by my house who wears nothing but a bikini made out of fox fur for fuck's sake, but no, they wouldn't let me buy anything and I have to buy stuff because I have to go to a _party_ later, and Frank's fucking tiny and _none of his shirts fit_ , and -"

"Gerard-" Alicia started, but Gerard barreled on.

"And it was a _really_ awesome jacket, too, and they were fucking _bitches_ to me in that store." His voice was getting progressively higher and higher but he didn't even care. They treated him like shit and it still stung.

Alicia stood up from the desk and crossed behind it to pick up the phone. She started punching numbers in the phone, still looking at Gerard, and Gerard threw his hands up in the air and slumped back into the seat, defeated.

"Yeah, fine, call the cops, that's awesome. Fucking super. Tell them I said hi and to _suck my dick_." He crossed his arms and curled in on himself, getting ready for the shit that was about to fall. Alicia was intimidating as hell but he could still probably make it out the door if he took off now.

"Hello, Katie?" Alicia said, ignoring Gerard.

Gerard stilled.

"It's Alicia, from the Beverly. Yes, yes," she said, smiling wide at whatever the other person said. Gerard would think she was actually really pretty if he wasn't so terrified she was going to crush his balls with a look.

"Yes, well, I was wondering if you could help me. I have a friend here, his name is Gerard, who has a big party tonight and nothing in his closet to wear, I'm afraid. If I send him over, can you help him out?" She smiled again. "That's what I thought. He'll be there soon."

She placed the phone back into the cradle and looked at Gerard. It was a good smile. He could see it now.

"It's not Rodeo Drive," she said, quirking an eyebrow, "but I have a feeling you'll like it just fine."

*

"Hi, you must be Gerard," the woman said, extending her hand. "I'm Katie Kay. Welcome to SkinGraft."

"You have so many _jackets_ ," Gerard said in awe, probably clinging a little too hard to the handshake. His other hand was still wrapped around his chest, keeping his jacket closed, but he didn't even really care anymore. He was _surrounded_.

"Do you like jackets, Gerard?" she asked, smiling widely at him.

"I am a jacket _slut_ ," he said emphatically, still shaking her hand.

She clasped her other hand on top of his. "What a coincidence, we are too. Follow me this way."

***

Frank was glad he had thought to leave an extra suit at the office, because he was already running late and barely had time to pick up Gerard at the hotel, let alone change clothes. He was still fiddling with his tie when the limo pulled up to the hotel. "I'll be right back," he told Bob, the driver, as he got out, nervously shoving his hair into place.

When Frank had talked to Gerard earlier, he'd asked Gerard to wait for him in the lobby, but he couldn't see him anywhere when he walked in. He slowly turned in a circle to look around, but nope, Gerard wasn't there. Fuck, had he flaked on him? Frank wouldn't really blame him, but Gerard had sounded excited earlier. It was pretty stupid to trust someone he had only known for twenty-four hours, and technically a _hustler_ at that, but Frank hadn't really thought Gerard the type to outright lie. Shit. _Fuck_.

He took one final look around and was just about to rush up to the room to see if Gerard had actually left him high and fucking dry, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Ms. Simmons, the hotel manager.

"Pardon the interruption, Mr. Iero, but I believe your... friend... is waiting for you in the lounge." She looked like she was hiding a smile. She gestured to the open double doors off the main lobby towards the hotel bar, and Frank ignored the way his hands wanted to shake.

"Oh right. Thanks," he replied, giving her quick smile. She returned the smile and headed back to her post behind the main desk, and Frank couldn't help but exhale a small sigh of relief as he walked into the lounge.

The lighting was low and it was hard to pick out faces properly. There were people standing around, laughing and drinking, and some people scattered at the tables playing poker or ordering more drinks. There was a stage on one side, with a band playing as quietly as they could manage. Frank didn't see Gerard anywhere, so he walked further in the room. A group of people that had been blocking his view of the bar moved to get closer to the band and he finally saw him.

Gerard was perched on a bar stool, his profile to Frank. He had one foot propped up on one of the rungs of the stool, but the other was on the floor, which made his leg look about a mile long. He was wearing tight black pants - Frank wasn't sure from this distance if they were jeans or dress pants - and there was no mistaking the way they clung to Gerard's skin. Gerard had a drink sitting near his elbow on the bar, and he was playing with something in his mouth.

As Frank moved closer, he saw that it was actually a cherry, and he was lazily tugging on the stem. _Shit,_ that was kinda hot. _Gerard_ was really hot. How in hell did Frank find this guy? He was gorgeous. Gerard looked up at the wall behind the bar, Frank assumed to check the clock that was hanging there, and then swept his gaze around the room. When he landed on Frank, his face softened into a smile and Frank couldn't help but smile back. Yeah. This could work.

Frank reached the bar and leaned against it, facing Gerard. He could really see his outfit now, and holy shit, Gerard was wearing the most _amazing_ jacket. It was black leather and slim cut and had zippers down the arms and across the front. His pants _were_ jeans, now that he could see them better, but they may as well have been leggings with the way they fit. There was a tuxedo stripe down the sides and Gerard was wearing the same black boots he had been wearing the night before.

Gerard had done something to his hair that made it look like he'd just rolled out of bed, after _really_ great sex, and he had a little bit of eyeliner and mascara on too. He looked fucking gorgeous. And Frank only realized he had been staring and literally looking Gerard up and down when he saw that Gerard was smirking at him around the cherry still in his mouth. Whoops.

"Hi, uh, you look amazing." Frank really didn't feel like beating around the bush. And it was true.

"I know, right?" Gerard replied, then bit the cherry off the stem and chewed. Frank broke his gaze away from Gerard's mouth with some effort and nudged the drink.

"Thought you didn't drink."

"I don't. Shirley Temple." Then Gerard leaned in close and whispered in Frank's ear. "I can tie a knot in the stem with my tongue."

Frank felt his face heat up. Gerard leaned back and grinned and Frank really wanted to drag Gerard back upstairs and have him demonstrate exactly how talented his tongue was, but, he checked his watch, shit they were already running late as it was. "You'll have to show me later, we're late."

Gerard nodded and dropped the stem into his glass, sucking some of the juice off his fingers. "Thanks for keeping me company, Charlie," he said to the bartender, who nodded and waved in response.

Frank held out his arm and Gerard stood and took it, rolling his eyes a little at Frank's display. Frank got an even better look at Gerard's outfit when he stood up and, yeah, he looked really fucking good and totally the part Frank needed him to play. And, wait. "Are you wearing two belts?"

"Yep," Gerard said gleefully.

"Why?" Frank asked as he led them out of the lounge and into the lobby.

"Why not?" was Gerard's reply, and really, Frank didn't have much of an answer. The belts did look good, one black and one leopard print. Seriously, Gerard looked perfect for the part. If Frank could just get the rest of the band pulled together in enough time, he might be able to save his ass after all.

"So who am I supposed to _be_ , anyway," Gerard asked as they walked through the lobby. "Besides the talent. I mean, I don't exactly want to use my real name, here, just in case -"

Frank shook his head. "Actually, we have to fudge this one a bit - right now it just has the band name on most of the paperwork, so that's what the execs have seen, so we just have to use a stage name for you and say you're the band and they'll never know."

"What was the band name?" Gerard asked.

"The Walter Cronkites," Frank answered.

"That son of a bitch did have an awesome name," Gerard said, smiling a little.

Gerard pulled out a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and put slid them on when they got outside, even though the sun was nearly set. They were gigantic and looked ridiculous, but totally worked. As he followed Gerard into the limo, Frank hoped the rest of the night would be this easy.

*

The party was in one of the big suites at the top of the office building. Huge, floor-to-ceiling windows around the edge showed off the spread of the city, lights outlining the rolls of the city hills below them. The DJ in the corner was playing some really crappy music and no one was dancing, but people were drinking and talking and drinking some more, and this was exactly the kind of party Frank knew how to work.

Frank scanned the room, counting the faces he needed to talk to, the connections he could make, the people he could touch on the elbow, shoulder, clasp on the back, not touch at all, and who needed another drink in their hands.

He knew this. He could do this. He felt drunk already.

"Jesus," Gerard exhaled beside him.

Frank turned to Gerard. His hands were fidgeting with the hem of his jacket and he was staring out over the crowd. Frank touched his back gently.

"You'll be fine. Just be vague and act like you know what you're doing."

"I don't know what I'm doing."

"Well, in this case, you're lucky, because I do. Follow my lead, okay?"

Gerard nodded slightly. "Okay."

Frank started down the steps towards the main floor and made sure he felt Gerard at his side.

"Travis!" he said, clasping hands with the guy passing them by. "How're you?"

"Great, I'm great, still working my ass off for A&R," Travis said, rolling his eyes. "Heard you got the big gig this weekend."

"I do indeed," Frank said, smiling brightly and turning to Gerard. "This is him right here."

Gerard's eyes went wide. "Uh. Hi."

"You're the talent?" Travis said, eyeing him up.

Gerard furrowed his brow a little. "Yup."

"I thought you'd be taller."

"I forgot my heels at home," Gerard said, shifting his weight away onto one hip and bracing his hand.

Travis made an obnoxious _hrrn_ noise out of his nose instead of a laugh. He turned to Frank but kept his eyes on Gerard. "Well, he's very pretty, Iero, but can he sing? That last group you had-"

"He's a _great_ singer," Frank said, patting Gerard's chest. "Just you wait."

"Yeah, I've got a real talent of tongue," Gerard said, deadpan. Frank nearly choked.

Travis' eyebrows rose.

"Oh look, there's Patrick, let's go say hello," Frank said, wrapping an arm around Gerard's back and steering him through the crowd towards his boss before he either cracked up or broke down. He didn't really know anymore.

"So, uh, do you actually _have_ heels, or?" he asked before he could stop his mouth, his brain apparently completely latched onto Gerard's line about his shoes.

Gerard smirked and looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "You really wanna know?"

Frank tried to think about it for a second but his brain sort of shorted out, so _that_ was apparently a yes. He tried to stutter out a noncommittal answer but Gerard smirked at him anyway. Oh god, his face was probably red.

He couldn't think of anything to say, so he just moved them across the room and over toward Patrick, who was standing in a group of people near the dance floor. He didn't look like he was paying too much attention to the conversation, rather frowning sort of disdainfully at the DJ and every new and shitty song he played.

"You're going to want to meet this guy, Gee, seriously. Big time label guy," Frank muttered under his breath while he steered them closer.

Frank tapped Patrick lightly on the shoulder until he spun to face them.

"Patrick," Frank said, reaching out a hand, "so glad to see you." He meant it. Patrick was his boss but he was a good guy and he knew his shit. It was a welcome contrast to all the other people in the room right then.

"You too," Patrick said, smiling genuinely at them. "Sorry about the music. I think the DJ is drunk. Is this your guy?"

Frank slid a hand along Gerard's back and squeezed his shoulder. "Yes indeed. This is -"

"Walter Cronkite," Gerard said, smiling smugly. Frank wanted to gape at him. When he'd suggested picking a stage name he hadn't really counted on Gerard picking the same name as the _band_. But Gerard just gave him a little mischievous glance like he knew exactly what he was doing.

"I thought it was The Walter Cronkites?" Patrick said, frowning. "Isn't that what it said on the papers? The Walter Cronkites?"

"Oh that, that was just a miscommunication," Frank said, ignoring the swoop in the pit of his stomach which meant he had to remember his lies. "This, here, is the guy. It's a solo act but he goes by the stage name Walter Cronkite of The Walter Cronkites, you know, to make it seem like there's a whole backing band. It's all very meta."

Patrick raised an eyebrow. " _Will_ he have a whole backing band?"

"Absolutely." Hopefully, if people would fucking call Frank back.

Patrick turned to Gerard. "Your parents name you after the anchor on purpose?"

Gerard smiled. "Well, actually, it's just a stage name. He had that sexy voice, you know. Made the panties drop."

"Indeed he did," Patrick said, smirking a little. "Still might need to work on that name, though." Patrick raised a glass to Gerard in a salute. "Looking forward to seeing your set on Saturday."

"You and me both," Gerard said, his smile starting to look a little pained. Frank pretended to see someone else across the room.

"Oh, look, there's Eddie, let's introduce you to Eddie, he's _dying_ to meet you," Frank said, shaking Patrick's hand again, before guiding Gerard back across the room.

"Walter Cronkite, huh?" he asked when they were out of earshot, resisting the urge to pinch at Gerard's side. Gerard just shrugged nonchalantly, but that smug little smile was back.

"It's a good name," he said.

Frank sighed and moved them through another huge crowd of people, letting it drop for now. He probably should have been angry but he had to admit it was pretty funny. Or at least ridiculous. And Gerard knew the people here would buy it, too.

"How are you doing? Overwhelmed or anything?" Frank knew _he_ was, but he also knew most of his job was hiding when he was overwhelmed. This wasn't exactly Gerard's scene. Frank was already completely impressed, though - Gerard had obviously already charmed Patrick, at the very least, and that was one step closer to charming Pete.

"Does everybody always smile like that?" Gerard asked, looking back over the crowd of faces. "It's creepy."

"Of course. I think they teach it to you in business school. A whole fucking MBA program in being a sleazy motherfucker. There's only a few more guys we need to meet and then we can sneak out, you're doing great, and then we can - oh _fuck_ ," he said, looking over Gerard's shoulder and freezing in place.

Gerard stared at him. "Well, yeah, but let me get out of this jacket first-"

Frank grabbed Gerard's arm. "Leto's coming. Let me handle this."

"Who?" Gerard asked, turning to look.

"Total asswipe. Don't even try to be nice to him, he's slime." Frank plastered on his best impersonation MBA smile and turned to Leto head on. "Leto! I see you managed to not sweat through an entire shirt by now. I'm so _proud_."

Leto swaggered over to where they were standing, the drink in his hand tellingly low. "So _this_ must be the new talent, eh? Frankie's little star?"

Frank smiled. " _Big_ star. Walter Cronkite of The Walter Cronkites."

Leto frowned at him. "That's dumb. You think just because you can get someone to cover the band's spot it won't make you look like a jackass?"

"Go get another drink, Leto," Frank said, trying not to grit his teeth.

"Oh, you don't have to tell me. I'm fucking celebrating, my boy. My band is charming the pants off everybody here. I think one of them's off fucking Pete right now."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Pete doesn't fuck the bands. At least not with his pants off."

Leto pointed at Gerard with his drink. "Frankie does, though, don't you Frankie?"

Gerard darted a look over to Frank, but kept his face blank, obviously looking to Frank for a reaction. Frank tried to stay cool but he knew he was getting riled up. His palms were already sweating.

"Don't listen to him, he's so full of shit, I'm surprised he doesn't leave skid marks," Frank snarled, fighting the urge to pull Gerard away. They couldn't retreat yet. Not yet.

"Rumors? Frankie, I know all about why that band you had last year broke up," Leto said finishing off his drink in one swig. "Did you really think they weren't going to talk?"

Frank watched him and wished he had a drink in his hands. "That wasn't the reason." It wasn't. Mostly.

"Really? You think sleeping with the bass player _and_ the guitar player wasn't going to mess things up a bit? You never did know how to actually mix business with pleasure."

Gerard smiled tightly and looked over at Frank. "Really? He's been nothing but professional so far."

"You just _wait_ ," Leto said, gesturing towards Frank, "he'll fuck you over."

"The bed, or the business table?" Gerard said, looking very concerned.

"I think that's enough of _this_ conversation," Frank said, pressing his hand against Gerard's back. He hoped Gerard couldn't feel them shaking. "Catch you later, Leto. Do your best to trip and fall over the gutters on the way out, hm?"

Leto raised his empty glass in a mock toast. "See you there."

Frank tried to smile but it came out as mostly a sneer. He strode over the bar immediately, not even waiting to see if Gerard followed. He wanted a drink. He wanted a _lot_ of drinks. He wanted that whole conversation to have never happened.

"Jack and Coke, please," he said, gesturing at the bartender. He kept his eyes forward as he felt Gerard's hand on his arm, only touching him for a second before pulling away.

"If it makes you feel any better, you have _much_ better hair," Gerard said, leaning back against the bar next to him, voice light.

Frank snorted. "Thanks."

Gerard was quiet, still watching the crowd. " _Was_ that the reason they broke up?"

Frank stared into the bottom of his drink and then downed most of it in a gulp, wincing at the burn. Too late to totally lie now. "No, not really. I was - I was really angry about some stuff, some personal stuff, and I ended up taking it out wherever I could, which ended with me getting Leto's singer to ditch his band and join one of mine. He never really forgave me for it. Turns out he was still planning to stab me in the back before I ever did anything to him, but I made the first move, and he spread the rumors that ended up taking my band down with them too. Closest I've ever come to losing my job." _Before this week_.

"Real piece of work, huh," Gerard said. Frank was really hoping Gerard was talking about Leto and not him, but he wouldn't have blamed him if he had. It was pretty true. He didn't _mean_ it to be true, though, which hopefully counted for something.

"Heh, yeah," he said instead, and gestured to the bartender for another drink.

"Do you _like_ any of these people?" Gerard asked, looking out over the crowd.

Frank sighed and turned around next to him. "Don't think most of them like _me_."

Gerard was quiet next to him. Frank sipped at his drink. He smiled and pointed back at the guys who pointed at him and waved from across the room, like they were at a fucking frat kegger or something.

Leto was at the other end of the room, laughing loudly and talking to Bill, Morris, Patrick, and a few of the other guys from the department. Frank could see the kids from Leto's band scattered around the room, like a shiny American Apparel army. Frank kicked back his drink. He felt bad drinking in front of Gerard, and guilty, even though Gerard hadn't said anything about it before.

"Let's get out of here," he said, putting his mostly empty glass back on the bar. "I'm over this party."

Gerard nodded. They left without saying goodbye to anyone.

The car ride back was quiet. Frank leaned against the window and put a hand over his eyes, pressing firmly on his temples to try and quell the headache he felt quickly approaching. Gerard cracked the window and smoked the whole way back to the hotel, not really looking at Frank. They didn't speak on the way through the lobby. Everything between them felt weirdly heavy and awkward and Frank didn't know how to fix it, and he _hated_ not knowing how to fix it. But before he could really focus on fixing whatever was going on with _them_ , he needed to fix his career first.

"I'm just going to do some work for a bit," Frank said when they got inside the room. His back was knotted up but the rest of him just felt worn out and drained. He tugged at his tie until it came loose and tossed it onto the table on top of his stack of papers.

Gerard stood awkwardly by the door. "Okay. I think I'm just gonna go to bed."

Frank nodded. "Okay."

"Okay."

Gerard disappeared into the bedroom, shrugging off his jacket as he went. Frank slumped into the desk chair and watched out the corner of his eye as Gerard stripped in the near dark of the bedroom, the light from the streetlights outside barely showing his bare shoulders and back as he pulled his shirt over his head.

Frank ran a finger over the edge of one of his file folders, feeling the smooth texture under his fingers, and watched until he could hear Gerard unbuckling his belt, then turned away. He had to make all of this _work_.

***

Gerard opened his eyes. The bedroom was dark and the only light on in the main room was the little lamp on Frank's desk by the window, but Frank was nowhere in sight. He checked the clock next to the bed (4:28 in the morning, Jesus) and reached a hand out to touch the mattress next to him. It was cold. Frank had never come to bed.

He rolled over on his back and sighed.

*

The lobby was completely deserted. Gerard padded through it in the near-dark, wrapping his hotel robe closer around his body. He'd pulled his jeans back on before he left the room but this hotel was fucking cold and he was _freezing_. There were some employees scattered about, cleaning and organizing quietly, but no sign of Frank.

Frank hadn't been in the room but his wallet and phone had still been in a pile on his desk so obviously he hadn't left the hotel. Gerard knew he probably should've just let him do whatever the hell it was Frank wanted to do at 4:30 in the morning, but still. He was concerned. The party had been a bit of a nightmare but Frank had seemed almost _beaten_ at the end of it, which was totally weird for the cool little exterior he was so good at showing to everyone. He knew Frank was stressed, and tired, but it had looked like _fatigue_ , and Gerard hadn't wanted to press too hard.

He wasn't sure what had brought Frank so down, either - he was pretty sure he hadn't fucked up _too_ bad, but apparently that Leto guy just knew how to get under Frank's skin. Gerard wouldn't have really cared if Frank _had_ fucked the people in that band, since he was pretty much the last person allowed to make judgments about that sort of thing. But it had been more than that. There had been something in Frank's face when he'd told Gerard about it - he'd said he'd been angry about something, but hadn't said _what_ , and Gerard suspected that was the real thing that could bring him down so fast.

Gerard peered down the long hallway towards the lounge at the other end of the lobby. The door was cracked open a few inches and there were soft noises coming from within.

He walked up to the door and peered through the crack, sticking to the shadows the best he could.

The room was mostly empty except for the cleaning crew inside, wiping down tables and gently refolding pressed white tablecloths. The stage down on the far side of a room had a piano on it, as well as some other instruments still in position from the band that had been playing there earlier. The lights were dimmed so much it was almost hard to see all the way back.

Frank was curled up on one of the dining chairs on the stage, his legs crossed underneath him, which that made him look much younger than he was. He had a guitar on his lap and he was strumming at it idly, his head bent over the strings. It didn't sound like the guitar was plugged in but Gerard couldn't actually tell, he might have just been going through the motions. His tie was still upstairs but he was still in his dress clothes, mostly, with his shirt sleeves rucked up around his elbows.

Gerard pushed the door open enough so he could slide in through the crack without it making a sound. He walked quietly up to the stage, approaching from the side, and ignored the hotel staff who raised their heads to watch him pass. He watched Frank's face as he shifted his hands along the frets on the neck of the guitar.

"You playing anything in particular?" he asked when he was only a few feet away. His voice was quiet but Frank sat up like a shot, his fingers clamping down on the strings.

"Fuck! Gerard, hi," he said, looking off-balance. He took in Gerard's hair and robe and blinked at him, looking a little stunned. "What time is it?"

Gerard shrugged. "Late. Can't sleep?"

Frank looked down at the guitar again. "Distracted."

Gerard took the step up onto the stage and walked around Frank to the piano, using the stool to push himself up to sit on the closed lid. "You play?" he asked, nodding towards the guitar.

"I used to," Frank said, dragging his hands back up and down the neck of the guitar again, almost like a caress. "Long time ago."

"What happened?" Gerard asked.

Frank smiled a little. "Distracted."

"That's too bad. I always liked guitar players," Gerard said, leaning back on his palms.

Frank strummed a hollow chord and didn't say anything. With the guitar in his lap like that, all hunched over, Gerard could almost imagine him as a teenager in his room, practicing until his fingers ached. Right now, though, he just looked tired and dark around the eyes.

Gerard shifted his feet until his toes hit the keys of the piano, making an off-key combination ring out in the quiet room. "You ever play piano?"

Frank looked up at him, then, his fingers stilling on the guitar. He shifted in his seat and straightened up a little, turning to the rest of the ballroom. "Can you give us a minute, guys?" he asked the rest of the dark room.

Gerard watched as the shadows of the employees picked up their things and faded out, just like that, just because Frank asked. Gerard had forgotten that Frank was the kind of guy who could do that. In a few seconds it was completely quiet again, which only made each of their little movements all the more amplified.

Frank uncurled from his position in the chair and unwound the guitar strap from around his neck, standing up to place the guitar back in its stand on the rear of the stage. He came over to the piano and sat down on the stool, not saying a word, just gently moving Gerard's ankle until Gerard shifted to the side enough that he was mostly out of the way of the keys.

Frank's fingers hovered above them for only a second before he started to play. He was rough, and choppy, but he could definitely play. Gerard was expecting some three-chord punk adaption, maybe, or some kind of cover, but it was some song he'd never heard, something that sounded old. He watched Frank's tattooed fingers on the keys, the way his shoulders shifted with his body in time, the bits of hair that fell over his forehead out of position.

Gerard reached out to touch, and ran a hand through Frank's hair. Frank stopped playing immediately and looked up at him, but Gerard didn't move his hand away, just pressed a little harder, with more purpose.

Frank stood up slowly and Gerard moved at the same time, shifting over until he was centered on the piano, knees to Frank's chest. Frank pressed closer and Gerard opened his thighs until Frank was between them, Gerard's feet coming to rest on the keys, making an awkward, clanging sound underneath his bare feet. Gerard ran his hand through Frank's hair again. Frank was staring right at Gerard's chest, where the hotel robe had started to slip, and he raised a hand to push the fabric away and run fingers over Gerard's bare chest.

Fuck, that felt good. Frank's fingers were cold and Gerard's skin reacted immediately, prickling with goosebumps under his touch. Gerard inhaled deeply but kept quiet, focusing on Frank and watching to pick up on anything he could do to make Frank feel better, pull him out of himself a little.

Frank hadn't said a word. He leaned forward, Gerard's hand still in his hair, and pressed his forehead to Gerard's chest. Gerard could feel him exhale against his skin. He was about to say something, but Frank moved his hands down to work on the loose tie of the robe and Gerard clamped his mouth shut. Frank pushed the robe open, running his palms across Gerard's stomach and then dragging the tips of his fingers just underneath the waistband of Gerard's pants. The caress made Gerard shiver and he was already getting turned on, shit, how the fuck was he so easy for Frank already?

He was about to find out just how easy when Frank slid his hand down to palm at Gerard's dick through his pants. Gerard couldn't help arching up into the touch, choking back a moan when Frank pressed harder. Frank moved his hands to undo the buttons on Gerard's fly, and fuck, was he gonna do this right here?

Apparently he was, because he got the fly of Gerard's jeans open and started tugging on the waist to pull them down. Gerard lifted his hips to help, and ended up making a loud clanging sound on the piano with his feet. He couldn't help the nervous laughter that escaped and he bit his lip as Frank smiled up at him, and kept tugging.

Jesus, why was he even nervous? It's not like he hadn't had sex in some pretty interesting (and even more public) places before, or picked up clients who wanted to go down on him. But the way Frank was looking at him was... different. Almost hungry. Gerard couldn't figure it out, but he wasn't about to stop Frank to try, because his pants were down past his knees and Frank was pulling them off his ankles and Gerard had his bare ass on a baby grand, good god. Oh wait, shit - "Pants pocket."

Frank looked up at him, fingers stilling on Gerard's foot. "Huh?"

"Condom," Gerard said, slightly breathless. "In my pants pocket."

"Oh! Right," Frank replied, getting a condom out of the jeans before dropping them on the floor of the stage. He sat back down on the stool, then leaned forward, pressing his lips to the inside of Gerard's knee, then dragging them up, up, right to the crease of Gerard's thigh, his breath hot on Gerard's skin but making him shiver all over as he instinctively spread his legs wider. Frank ran a hand up the back of Gerard's leg, caressing his calf. He was being so _gentle_ it was sort of blowing Gerard's mind a little.

Frank tore open the condom packet with his teeth and rolled it down over Gerard's dick, stroking him slowly. Gerard was planning to watch, because Frank looked really hot like this, sitting between his sprawled legs, his pretty, perfect mouth ready and right there, but Frank must have had other ideas, because he put his hand on Gerard's chest and pushed until Gerard was lying all the way back on the piano. Gerard felt Frank's fingers run from his sides, just under his ribs, all the way down, over his hips and then around to the backs of his thighs. And then Frank tugged hard, pulling Gerard forward until his ass was off the piano and Frank swallowed him down. The shock of it had Gerard gripping the sides of the piano and crying out. "Fuck!"

He felt Frank's response as he moaned around Gerard's dick. Gerard arched his back on the piano, feet planted on the keys, and lifted his hips up to get more of Frank's mouth. Frank was so good at this, sucking Gerard deep and slow, then hard and fast, tonguing around the head and using just the right amount of teeth. Gerard had no idea if anyone was still around, and he didn't really care, because he couldn't keep quiet, not when it was this good, it was _never_ this good, not for him usually. He was so used to faking it that he didn't even recognize some of the noises coming out of his throat, accompanied now by the random plink of the piano keys.

"Shit, _shit_ , Frank." He was babbling and so close already. Frank made encouraging noises and gripped Gerard harder, relaxing his throat and taking Gerard in as deep as he could. Gerard writhed on the piano and circled his hips and, fuck, just, god, right _there_ , and he was coming, shaking with it, one foot slipping off the keys. Frank pulled off and held him where he was as Gerard caught his breath. He felt like he'd just run a fucking marathon. He could vaguely feel Frank getting rid of the condom but couldn't get himself to move to help, so he just sprawled out on the top of the piano and stared at the ceiling while his body hummed from the aftershocks.

When he felt like he could move his limbs again, Gerard pushed himself up on his elbows so he could see Frank. His eyes were dark and his lips were swollen and red and all Gerard wanted to do was kiss the hell out of him. He gave in to the impulse and slid himself off the front of the piano and onto Frank's lap, his hands in Frank's hair as he kissed him. This was going nowhere good, he knew. Giving in to his impulses was what always got him into trouble, but fuck, Frank was here and he was so _good_ , and if Gerard wanted to pretend, even just a little, maybe that was okay, just this once. Frank moaned into his mouth and Gerard could feel how hard he was. Gerard broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against Frank's, sliding a hand between them to cup it against Frank's dick. "Let's go back upstairs. Let me take care of you."

Frank nodded, his hands tightening on Gerard's waist where they had wound up earlier. "Yeah, okay," he replied. His voice was absolutely wrecked. It sounded good on him.

Gerard kissed him again before moving to stand on weak knees. _Fuck_. Just pretend, he needed to remind himself. It was just pretend. He wrapped his robe back around himself and held out his hand to Frank. _Just pretend._

***

Gerard slept like he owned the bed, his limbs sprawled out and most of the covers bunched around his body. There was still eyeliner smudged around his eyes and a dark smear leading towards his cheekbone where he'd rubbed at it at some point in the night. Frank lay next to him silently, his arm wrapped around his pillow and cradling it to his chest, watching him.

How had Frank gotten here? Here, with his job on the line and a - a _hooker_ in his bed, _Gerard_ in his bed, drooling on his pillow, and Frank just letting himself fall more into it? It wasn't like him. It wasn't like him _at all_. He wanted to reach out and touch the smooth curve of Gerard's shoulder, but he stopped, pulled his hand back.

His alarm was going to go off in the next few minutes. He always woke up before his alarm. He reached over to the nightstand for his phone and turned off the alarm, then set it back down, trying not to make too much noise. When he rolled back over, Gerard was watching him with half-open eyes.

Frank froze. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said quietly.

Gerard grabbed the edge of the sheet and rolled over until he was into Frank's space. He huffed out a breath against Frank's chest and Frank let himself touch Gerard's shoulder then, but only a little. "S'okay," Gerard murmured, his eyes closing again. "Meetings?"

"Yeah. I won't be back till later. You got any plans for today?" Frank shifted until his head was propped up on his hand. He played with a piece of Gerard's hair that was sticking straight up from his head, but Gerard kept his eyes closed.

"Eh. Not really."

Frank tugged lightly on the piece of hair. "I'm surprised you didn't get more stuff yesterday, you sounded pretty excited about spending all that cash on clothes. And you looked real good last night." He had. Especially sprawled out on that piano. Frank was glad Gerard couldn't see his little grin.

Gerard rolled over onto his back and shrugged, looking at the wall over Frank's shoulder. "I dunno. It wasn't as much fun as I thought it would be."

Frank frowned. "Why not?

Gerard sighed. "The salespeople sucked. They were just sort of-" he waved his hand in the air in a strange flippy motion. "You know."

"I don't." Salespeople were always nice to him. _Really_ nice to him.

Gerard rolled his eyes. "They looked at me like I was, you know. Dirty. And the manager accused me of shoplifting."

" _What_ ," Frank said, sitting up farther in bed. "Are you serious?"

Gerard ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. I mean, you know, it's not a big deal, I looked pretty ridiculous, or whatever-"

Frank's skin was hot all over. "Fuck _that_ shit. Come on, we're going shopping," he said, rolling out of bed.

Gerard sat up straight in bed, the sheets pooling around his waist. "Frank, seriously, you don't have to, you have meetings-"

Frank yanked a pair of his dress pants off the hanger in the closet and snapped them out before stepping into them. "I _want_ to. And the meetings don't start 'till later."

Gerard hesitated, but then slowly slid towards the edge of the bed. "Okay. But just, you know. Just a little shopping. Nothing _too_ crazy."

Frank nodded. "Absolutely."

*

"Absolutely _not_ ," Frank said, rolling his eyes. "I saw the exact same outfit at the store down the street for half the tag, and you're going to try charging us top shelf price? Not a chance. And do you have shoes here? He is definitely going to need to see some shoes."

"And _boots_ ," Gerard said, calling out from inside the dressing room.

" _And_ boots," Frank said, staring at the manager in front of him. The man cleared his throat and pressed down his tie.

"I can, ah, offer a discount on those pieces of clothing, and yes, ah, we do have many types of boots-"

"We need _all_ of the boots," Frank said. "Isn't that right, Gee?"

" _All_ of the boots," Gerard called. His socked feet hopped up and down behind the curtain and another pair of pants wriggled up his calves.

Another sales girl hurried by Frank toward Gerard's dressing room, adding more jackets and shirts and pants to the rack outside the curtain, waiting for him. Frank tried his best to tamp down a smile as he turned back to the manager.

"Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be telling him how good he looks?" Frank said, pointing at Gerard's curtain.

Gerard popped his head out from behind the curtain and smiled at them, his face half-hidden behind an absolutely enormous pair of retro sunglasses.

The manager cleared his throat and turned to Gerard. "You are a beautiful specimen of a man, sir."

"You're not too bad yourself, hot lips. Do you have ties here?"

The manager, to his credit, only nodded. "We do indeed."

Gerard smiled wide and brilliant. "Excellent." He ducked his head back into the dressing room and threw another pair of pants back over the rack.

The manager cleared his throat again and turned back to Frank, his hand still gently resting against his tie, like he was calming his heart or holding back an ulcer or something.

"Just to be clear, sir, you're going to be spending an-"

" _Obscene_ amount of money," Frank said, smiling as he watched Gerard yank another jacket off the rack.

"HBO obscene or Showtime obscene?" the manager asked, deadpan.

Frank clapped him on the back. "Cinemax at four o'clock in the _morning_ obscene."

"You are a beautiful specimen of a man," the manager said, and turned away to pull more clothing and shoes from the racks.

Frank slipped over to Gerard's dressing room and inched the curtain aside. Gerard was just in a pair of pants, almost completely unzipped, looking focused as he fiddled with the buttons on a crisp tailored shirt.

Frank stepped up behind him and peered over Gerard's shoulder at his reflection in the mirror. "I like the pants."

"You like the pants _unzipped_ ," Gerard said, smiling but not looking up at him.

Frank shrugged. "Whatever the fashion is these days. I gotta run to the office, but I'm going to leave my card with you, okay? Just charge it."

Gerard's hands stilled on the shirt and he met Frank's gaze in the mirror. "You sure?"

Frank nodded. He was, he really really was. "Absolutely." He pulled the card out of his wallet and dragged the edge of the plastic around the skin of Gerard's hip before tucking it into the low elastic waistband of his briefs.

Gerard smiled and turned towards him but Frank stilled him with his hands on his hips, keeping him turned towards the mirror. They met briefly over Gerard's shoulder for a kiss and then Frank pulled back. "I'll see you back at the hotel."

Gerard smiled. "Okay."

Frank was riding a weird little high and he didn't know what to do with it. He was jittery all over, but he felt good inside, which was strange, and new, and confusing. He didn't know what to think, what to do with this, but it felt so easy it was scary. He forced himself not to think about it. Later, when he had time, he could figure out what the hell he was doing, how good Gerard tasted, how good he made Frank feel. In the meantime, though, he had to work.

On the way out of the store he waved to the manager, who was currently headed towards the dressing room with what looked like their entire back catalog in his arms.

"Take good care of him," Frank said, his hand on the door to leave. He wanted to stay, take care of Gerard himself, but no. Not now. This would have to do.

"I already put on my knee pads in case I need to grovel," the manager said, disappearing around the corner.

"Good man," Frank said, and then was out the door and into the sun.

*

"Iero," Patrick said, passing him a thick set of bound reports, "the new numbers are in. That group you found last year, what was it, NASA's Little Secret? They're doing great in Japan and I think they just hit the top spot on the iTunes Dance-Pop Download Chart."

Frank fist pumped a little and sat back in his chair. "Sweet. I have a connection down at the radio station that can totally get them more air play. I'll call him right after this. There's a new group I had last year, Origami Party, they'd make a good set. We should get them on some of the club circuits around here."

Patrick nodded. "Sounds good. And oh, before I forget - Pete didn't get to meet your boy at the party the other night. Did you guys have to leave early?"

Frank took a sip from his coffee cup and ignored the way Leto stilled next to him at the conference table. "Yeah, you know how it is, think he was just a little jetlagged."

Leto snorted next to him. Frank didn't throw his coffee in his face. It was an accomplishment, even if it was pretty terrible coffee anyway.

"Well, Pete'll be in tomorrow, you should bring Cronkite by then to meet him," Patrick said. "He likes to meet everybody before, you know, get a feel for things."

"Absolutely," Frank said, nodding.

"Excellent. Things look like they're moving well in place for the showcase this weekend but we need to go over the details. Now, Jared, is there anything you need covered for your kids before Saturday?" Patrick asked, frowning as he highlighted some lines in whatever report he was reading.

"Yeah, they requested that they have the headlining spot," Leto said, leaning back in his chair. "Since Iero over here doesn't even have a band to fill it."

"That is _incorrect_ , Leto," Frank said, smooth as he could make it. "And I find your lack of faith disturbing."

"My lack of faith? Man, that's just _fact_. How many bands have you had that have thrown temper tantrums and stormed out on you? You gotta stop recruiting the babies. What about that time you had that group that got high and set that hotel room on fire?"

Frank sat up straight in his chair and shot Leto one of his best, iciest smiles. "That group also beat your last three bands two-to-one in the airplay reports, so I think they did just fine. Also, there won't be any need for concern about this new group, Cronkite is a true, _seasoned_ professional."

"Well, Pete will be the final judge of that," Patrick said, looking back up from his papers. "Now, let's go over the gala in detail."

Frank settled in his chair, ready to look like Patrick's best student. That didn't stop him from shooting Leto a glare when Patrick wasn't looking. Whatever, Gerard _was_ a professional, and he wouldn't let Frank down. Frank had fucking faith.

***

"-on commission, right? _Big_ mistake," Gerard yelled, lifting his overstuffed bags into the air. The bitchy salespeople from the day before stared at him in abject horror.

"Big _motherfuckin'_ mistake, _huge_ , gigantic, _shitbitch_ of a mistake," Gerard said. "And before you even try to apologize, _sit on this and spin_." He flipped the bird and started walking backwards towards the doors.

"And you," he said, pointing to the sales girl, standing there with her hand pressed to her heart, "have _ugly bangs_ ". He pushed back through the glass doors and back onto Rodeo Drive, using all of his willpower not to skip all the way down the street.

***

"Greta, you are a godsend! Seriously, I owe you fucking huge. Yeah, meet me here tomorrow at one, we'll go over everything. You too." Frank hung up the phone and fist pumped in the air. He had Greta. He had fucking _Greta_ , which meant everything would work out. Gerard could actually sing, and Greta could write and play anything. He just needed to find a decent guitarist and he had two days left. Frank was really gonna pull this off. Leto could suck his fucking dick.

Which, well, made him think of last night and Gerard. Frank smiled to himself and picked the phone back up.

The phone rang almost a dozen times before it was picked up and Frank heard a muffled "Hello?" followed by some mysterious thumps and a muffled " _Shitfuck_!"

He laughed and asked, "Gerard? You okay?"

Another second and Gerard's voice was in his ear. "Frank? Yeah, I'm fine. Just dropped one of the shoe bags."

"One of? I take it today was a success, then?"

"Total fucking success."

Frank laughed. "Should I have a medic on hand when the bill comes?"

"Um, maybe?" Gerard actually sounded a little sheepish.

"Hey, stop," Frank said firmly. "I was only kidding. I wanted you to."

"Really? Because everything still has tags on, I could take some back."

"No, I want you to have it all, okay? Please." Frank really needed to learn to keep his damn mouth shut sometimes.

Gerard sighed a little. "Okay. Anyway, I got something special just for you."

"For me? What kind of something?"

"Nope, it's a surprise."

"Aw, come on, please?" Frank pleaded.

Gerard giggled. "Nope. You need to learn to hold your horses, mister."

"Yeah, yeah." Frank tried again, apparently unable to learn for the time being. "Is it something I'll enjoy?"

"Oh, you'll see," Gerard said, sounding amused.

"I really hope so," Frank replied. "Okay, I've gotta go. Try not to have too much fun without me."

"I'm sure I won't."

Frank hung up the phone. He waited about thirty seconds before picking it back up and calling again.

"Hel _lo_?"

"You sure you can't give me just a little clue?"

"Ugh Frank, no. I'm hanging up now." And he did. But he was laughing when he did it, so Frank didn't feel too bad. The rest of the day was pretty excruciating, stuck at the office instead of back at the hotel, but he had a lot of work to do so he stuck it out (and just hoped he didn't fuck anything up because he was so distracted). When everyone else started heading home, though, he took the opportunity to grab his briefcase and get the hell out of there as fast as he could.

"Hey, Bob," he said, hopping into the back of the car.

"Hello, Mr. Iero. Still some daylight left outside. A bit early for you, isn't it?" Bob said.

Frank unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his shirtsleeves up a little. "Yeah, couldn't concentrate."

"Well, the scenery can be distracting." Frank could see Bob's amused, blue eyes looking at him in the rearview mirror.

"You could say that," Frank replied, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar, settling back against his seat as Bob took off for the hotel.

*

Frank opened the penthouse door and walked into the dimly lit suite. He could hear soft music coming from the sitting area. "Gerard?" Frank dropped his briefcase and his suit jacket at the dining table, then followed the music with his feet.

Gerard stood in the sitting room, leaning against the back of the sofa. He was wearing a long, blood red gown, with white gloves that went up past his elbows. His hair was swept up on top of his head, pinned to keep the shorter strands in place. His face looked different too, sharper and yet soft, somehow. That's when Frank noticed it was because Gerard was wearing makeup, black around his eyes to make them stand out but look all smokey, and lush red lipstick to match the dress. Frank couldn't stop staring; Gerard looked so like a woman, but also _not_ , he was still very much a man and totally looked like himself, but _enhanced_ or something.

Gerard smiled close-lipped when he saw Frank. "Found my heels after all."

Frank almost swallowed his tongue. "Wow."

"Good wow?" Gerard asked, smiling wide.

Frank walked closer to him. "Fucking incredible wow." Seriously, Gerard had made an off-hand comment about this, but Frank never expected him to do it, or that he would actually get to see it. Shit, he had no idea it would be such a turn-on too, but fuck if he wasn't about to explode just from _looking_. He had to reach out and touch, and he did, putting his hands on Gerard's waist, then around to the small of his back, pulling him close. "You are _gorgeous_."

Gerard ducked his head, and Frank gently put his hand under Gerard's chin until their eyes met again. "You are," he said again softly, then leaned up to kiss Gerard's lips, tasting his lipstick. He felt Gerard's arms come up to rest on his shoulders, hands gently clasped around the back of his neck. Frank pulled back after a moment and trailed kisses across Gerard's jaw and down the side of his neck. Gerard tilted his head back to give Frank more access and sighed softly. "I'd really love to take you out and show the world how beautiful you are," Frank murmured between kisses, "but I think I'd rather keep you to myself, if that's all right with you."

"Mmmm, more than all right," Gerard said, slightly breathless. He was practically sitting on the back of the sofa now, his dress riding up his legs with Frank pressed up between his thighs, his right foot hooked behind Frank's left calf.

Frank managed to stop touching long enough to breathe. He squeezed Gerard's waist then stepped back, taking one of Gerard's hands and leading him toward the bedroom. Frank could get used to these kinds of surprises.

***

The plan for the next morning was to drag Gerard to another meeting at the label's offices with a bunch of the big shot label execs, before heading over to the rehearsal space and run through the showcase material. Frank was pretty exhausted; it had turned into another mostly sleepless night. Not that he was complaining, exactly. When he'd looked in the mirror in the bathroom that morning his mouth had been stained with red that smudged off on his fingers when he touched it, and it had almost turned him on again right then.

He'd looked over at Gerard, still sleeping in the bed, and considered taking off the whole day. But no, he'd been pretty irresponsible that week already. This was one of the meetings they had to nail. Still, though, watching Gerard sprawled out on the bed, his arms curling into the warm space Frank had left, had almost convinced him. _Almost_.

They'd somehow managed to get to the office on time. Gerard had already drained about half of the office's coffee pot in an effort to wake up, obviously realizing this meeting was a big deal, but Frank was still riding such a weird little giddy high from the night before, he wasn't as worried about it as he normally would have been. Gerard kept darting him looks over the top of his coffee mug and Frank could still see the mascara flecked around his eyes. He had to keep breaking eye contact just so he wouldn't get flustered again.

"He's here," Patrick said, causing everybody to tense up a little. No matter how nice of a guy Pete was, he was still _Pete Wentz_ , and that was scary as shit.

Pete was a modern-day mogul. He'd climbed his way to the top when he'd been barely a kid, and had held on to the business through markets that had cleaned out other labels without a warning. His domain had spread across genres and mediums and age brackets. He was _everywhere_.

He didn't _seem_ like a mogul, though, even though Frank knew he had enough pull to make people disappear. If he was into that. And he was also short, which made Frank feel better, and less like a little kid every time he met him. Frank cleared his throat and tried to look casual as Pete came in and made his way through the room, smiling wide and calling everybody by name.

"Frank Iero!" Pete said, shaking his hand vigorously. "You little fuck, how are you?"

"Great, great," Frank said, letting Pete wrench his arm around. "You?"

"Pretty god damned great," he said, looking past Frank to where Gerard was standing.

Frank stepped back a little and motioned for Gerard to join them. "Pete, this is Walter Cronkite, lead singer of the band you'll be seeing tomorrow night, The Walter Cronkites."

Pete flashed his mega-watt grin at Gerard and shook his hand. "Walter Cronkite? Pretty sure my grandma had the hots for him. Interesting choice for a stage name."

"Well, hopefully I'll give the hots to people of all ages," Gerard replied, giving Pete that smirk of his.

Pete winked at him. "I'm sure you'll have no trouble with that."

Okay, what the fuck, were they flirting? Pete was still holding Gerard's hand and Gerard was _batting his eyelashes_ and seriously, if this was anyone other than Pete, Frank would not be standing there, clenching his fists and forcing a smile. Thankfully, Patrick came over and took Pete away and Frank had a moment to breathe deeply and chill the fuck out.

"You okay?" Gerard asked. He looked genuinely concerned and Frank immediately felt like an idiot. Flirting with people was what Gerard _did_. Hell, it's what _Pete_ did, and Frank too, when he needed it. Besides, Gerard wasn't really his to get fucking jealous over anyway.

"I'm fine. Just, you know. I've got a lot riding on this."

Gerard put is hand on Frank's arm and squeezed a little. "I know. But it'll be fine, you'll see."

Frank nodded and scanned the conference room again, checking to see if there was anyone else he needed to talk to before they left for rehearsal. Leto was standing over in the corner with Morris, who was whispering in his ear. Leto had a strange look on his face and he was staring at Gerard, eyes boring into Gerard's back. "Ugh, fucking Leto," Frank grumbled to Gerard. "What the fuck is his problem?"

"No clue," Gerard said, shrugging and turning to glance over. Then he tilted his head a little, like he was measuring Leto up. "I can see why you hate him, but he does lean great."

Okay, that was it. There would be no flirting with Leto on Frank's watch. "We should get going to rehearsal," Frank said and led them out of the meeting.

*

Rehearsal went pretty well, once they finally got started. When Frank and Gerard got there, Greta and James were already getting set up, but they ended up waiting almost an hour for Jepha to finally show up. Frank really wanted to lecture him about being on fucking time to important shit, but Jeph was doing him a huge favor by being there at all, so he swallowed the urge down and just let them get on with practice. Once he got warmed up and used to the songs, Gerard actually sounded pretty great. Frank felt a thrill rush through him, zinging up and down his spine, and he could barely contain his excitement. He loved being right.

Frank had asked Greta to come up with a new arrangement for "Like A Virgin," since he already knew Gerard could sing the hell out of the original, and it was incredible. Frank really loved working with her. The only thing missing was a guitarist. Greta could play, but she was more comfortable on acoustic, and they needed her on keyboards anyway. If worse came to worst, Frank figured he could just do it himself, bullshit something about the guitarist getting swine flu or some other contagious disease, but even that wouldn't look good and would probably still mean his job. He had twenty-four hours to pull this off, and the thought of meeting Bill and Travis later for a business dinner was making Frank's head pound.

Gerard somehow seemed to get it, even though Frank had done his best to hide it. He reached into Frank's jacket pocket and pulled out his phone then handed it to Frank. "Call the guys, and tell them you've got a migraine and we're not going to dinner."

"Okay." How was Gerard so good at reading him already? "Where are we going?"

"Out," Gerard answered. "Come on."

*

Gerard pulled Frank out of the limo and onto the sidewalk outside some club Frank had never seen before. He was so distracted by everybody staring at them and the limo that he totally missed where they were going, but Gerard just grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside as the bouncer waved them through.

The inside was dark and smelled like old beer and dried sweat. There were long bars all around the edge of a room and some kind of stage set up in the back, with a band playing loud, rough music, seemingly in the middle of their last song. When it was over they waved and headed off, and the only sound was the crowd talking and laughing.

"What is this place?" Frank yelled over the noise of the crowd.

"Sweet Lorraine's," Gerard shouted back. "They always have great shows and the manager is nice. We're in here a lot, sometimes we even get a free meal out of him. Don't touch anything in the bathrooms, though, I think they gave up cleaning them when I was still in middle school."

Frank tried really hard to not feel bad about the fact that Gerard had to depend on free food from a bar, but he wasn't sure it didn't show up on his face a little. Thankfully, Gerard ignored it if he noticed and dragged Frank through the crowd near the front of the tiny stage that was no more than two feet off the ground.

The crowd was already thick and loud when they got close, and they didn't even have a second to stop before the next band came out and picked up their instruments. Gerard planted himself behind Frank, a hand on his hip. Frank’s instinct was to press back against him, but he held it in check.

"Who are these guys?" He asked, turning over his shoulder to talk to Gerard as the singer's microphone screeched some feedback.

Gerard leaned close until his lips were practically against Frank’s ear. It was still hard to hear him. "The Nancy Drew Project. Fucking awesome."

"Are they signed?" Frank asked.

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Just _watch_."

Frank did. They were pretty terrible. The singer was off-key and his hair was really bad, thinning on the top like he hadn't given up his heyday yet. His jacket was too big and the drummer in the back was off beat every so often and the guitarist's face was completely hidden by this huge head of hair. They'd never make it on a magazine cover -

Gerard pinched his side and Frank jerked away. "Ow!"

"Stop doing that."

"Stop doing what!" Frank yelled over the crowd. Some of them knew the words but most of them were just bopping around to the beat.

" _That_ , stop doing your little brain thing. I can _hear_ you sizing them up and that's impressive because they're fucking _loud_ ," Gerard said. "Stop running numbers and just fucking _watch_."

Frank huffed a little and turned back around. He _wasn't_ doing his little brain thing, what-the-fuck-ever. It wasn't like he didn't know how to enjoy a show. He used to enjoy shows all the god damned time, back when he was in Jersey. He spent most of his teenage years getting drunk and high in Hambone's car and sneaking into shows. He'd mastered the art of crawling back into his bedroom window and scrubbing down so his mom wouldn't smell the funk.

It was the whole reason he got _into_ the business in the first place, at least mostly. There was something about going to school the next day, with his uniform barely covering the bruises wrapped around his body, that felt better than anything in the whole god damned world.

Gerard's hand tightened on Frank's waist and he moved his other hand to rest on Frank’s belt. Frank wanted to reach down and take Gerard's hands in his own, but he crossed his arms in front of his chest and _watched_ , as Gerard apparently thought he couldn't do.

The band _was_ pretty terrible. But they were loud, and there were some parts that were fucking killer, like when the drummer snapped a stick in half during a solo and ended it by banging out the beat on the cymbal with his fist during the big crash of the finale. And the guitarist, the one with the hair, was fucking _insane_. He just planted his feet and shredded like he was in some arena somewhere, and not some shitty club that smelled like an armpit.

Frank watched the guy's hands on the guitar, transfixed. He was incredible. He launched into another solo and the crowd went wild, surging forward enough to almost make Frank stumble. Frank pressed back and the crowd reared and surged again, Gerard's hands gripping tighter onto his waist. Frank was into it, though, he remembered this - he looked around, and the crowd around him was mostly still bopping, but the half on the other side had a pit already in full swing. Fuck, fuck yeah -

Gerard pushed him, and whether it was intentional or not Frank didn't really know, but he stumbled forward towards the circle and then just sort of kept going, moving his way over until he pushed through the wall and right into the middle of the pit.

The band screeched and the pit lurched and Frank let himself be swept up into it, threw himself around like it was nothing. He kept looking for Gerard but couldn't see him anywhere. Eventually he was distracted by an elbow in the side of his chest and he had to shove back. After that it was just a blur of chords and songs and fists and sharp, sharp angles until the end of the set.

"Thank you and goodnight!" the singer yelled, before throwing his microphone down. Frank barely had time to see the guitarist carefully unhook his guitar and follow the rest of the band off stage. Frank was panting and he was pretty sure his face was bleeding and he had his shirt stuck all the way down his back, where it was rucked up over his hips. He yanked down at the hem and went to find Gerard, stumbling a little as his foot throbbed in pain.

As he came around the side of the stage, Frank saw the band standing off to the side, surrounded by other people. The singer was talking to one of the bouncers and the drummer was talking to a few stagehands, but the guitarist was in the back carefully fiddling with the pegheads on his guitar.

It felt like everything in Frank’s brain just clicked into place at once. He barely even knew he was moving before he was shoving his way through and over to the guitarist, wiping his gross hands on his jeans before extending one out.

"Frank Iero," he said, smiling at the guy as best he could. He was really glad he wasn't drunk right now; he was pretty wobbly from the adrenaline as it was.

The guy sort of stared at him, then shifted his guitar so he could reach out a hand to shake. "Ray Toro."

"Man, you guys," Frank said, settling his hands on his hips. "You guys were phenomenal."

"Thanks, man," Ray said, ducking his head a little. "Glad you enjoyed the show."

"Yeah. Yeah, it's been a while."

"Looks like you had a good time, though," Ray said, gesturing a little to Frank's face. Frank lifted a hand and came away with a smudge of blood from the corner of his mouth. He grinned.

"Yeah, you could say that. Look, listen. Okay, I'm - here's the thing," he said, shifting his weight a little. His foot really fucking hurt. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

Ray's eyebrows shot up a little. "Uh."

Frank waved a hand in front of him. "No, not like that. I work in the music business and I have a little showcase coming up, and I need a guitarist for a set on Saturday. You got any plans?"

Ray kind of rolled his eyes a little. "Music business, huh? What label?"

Frank reached in his back pocket to grab his wallet and quickly thumbed through the business cards in there to find one that wasn't limp with sweat. Ass sweat. _Gross_. "Kingston Records," he said, handing over the only dry one.

Ray's hand stilled on the card. "Seriously?"

" _Seriously_ ," Frank said. "It's just for the night, right, but it's paying and there's going to be a lot of hot shit label people there."

Ray just stared at the card for a minute in a daze, like he had forgotten Frank was even there. Frank’s heart was pounding, his ears still ringing, and all that was going through his head was _please please let this work, please please let this work_ while he waited for Ray to answer.

Ray looked up at Frank with wide eyes and said, "Uh, yeah. Totally. Of course, man!"

Frank grinned so hard he thought his face was going to split. "Fucking _ace_. Let me get your number and I'll call you first thing in the morning with the details, okay?"

Ray just nodded and Frank pulled out his phone.

When Frank set out to find Gerard again, he almost couldn't concentrate enough to look for his face in the crowd. His hands were shaking. He had Ray Toro. He had _Ray Toro_. His ass was _saved_. He let himself do a halted fist-pump by his side, down where most people wouldn't see. _Yes_. He finally found Gerard half-sprawled over the bar, gesturing dramatically to the bartender and back to the TV that was currently blaring some trashy-looking reality show.

"I can't believe you'd say that! _She_ deserves a chance at love, okay, her confessional _proves_ -" Gerard said, jabbing a finger back at the screen while the bartender rolled his eyes.

Frank made a beeline for him and cut his tirade off by wrapping his arms around Gerard's waist from behind and squeezing.

Gerard made a high-pitched noise and flailed a little as Frank pulled him back, willingly turning enough in Frank’s arms to see him face to face. Frank felt his pulse quicken at the way Gerard smiled when he saw the look on Frank's face.

"Had a good time?" Gerard said. He looked so pleased with himself. Frank couldn't help it, he laughed out loud, more like fucking _giggled_ , and Gerard's eyebrows shot up. "Had a _really_ good time?"

Frank pressed closer to Gerard and spread his palms against Gerard's lower back, underneath his jacket. "I had a fucking _incredible_ time. I got you a guitar player."

"You know how I feel about guitar players," Gerard said, smiling slyly. He was watching Frank's face like it was something fascinating and Frank didn't know what the fuck it was, except maybe he was bleeding again. Who cared? He had a _guitar player_. He felt on top of the world.

He didn't even think about it, just leaned in and kissed Gerard, pressing him back against the bar. Gerard barely had time to react before Frank shifted down to bite at his neck. Gerard gasped and his hands came up to fist in the front of Frank's sweaty t-shirt and his back arched against Frank's grip.

"Uh, Frank-" Gerard said, shifting his neck under Frank's mouth. "Not that I'm not, ahh, yes, okay, not that I'm not enjoying this a whole lot, but, uhhh. We should maybe. Move th-this. Somewhere. Uh, else." Frank bit down a little and Gerard's foot slipped forward like a reflex. "Yeah, yes, we should. Bathroom? Yes, let's go," Gerard said unevenly. He pushed back at Frank's chest and Frank took a step back. Gerard grabbed his wrist and led them through the crowd to the hallway illuminated by the neon Restrooms sign.

Frank wasn't even drunk, but it felt like everything was moving together, like everything inside of him was burning up in an awesome way and heating every pore. He barely even looked around the filthy bathroom when they walked in, just kept watching Gerard. He couldn't stop looking at him and he had to touch him again, immediately, or he was obviously going to go insane.

The bathroom was deserted, but Frank wouldn’t have cared if there had been a line. He'd been riled up since the second song, the adrenaline still thrumming under his skin, and Gerard was _right there_. As soon as the door closed, Frank was there pressing Gerard up against the wall next to it, biting on the side of his neck again, at the same tender spot.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Gerard moaned, and slid down the wall a little in Frank's arms. Frank shoved a knee in between Gerard's legs until Gerard was practically riding his thigh. Frank moved his hands underneath Gerard's jacket to press up against the flushed, hot skin of Gerard's sides.

Gerard moaned again and tilted his head back, bringing his hands up to grab at Frank's hair. Not pushing away, just holding on and digging in with his fingernails. Frank bucked forward and surged up to kiss Gerard. It was rough and their teeth clashed together; it wasn't sweet or tender at all, but it was _awesome_.

Gerard yanked hard at Frank's hair and Frank pulled back, gasping. He dug his fingers into Gerard's hips.

"Stall," Gerard said, panting a little.

It took Frank's brain a second to process what he meant. He kind of blinked stupidly at Gerard but then Gerard was pushing him back again, walking them over to the dirty, graffiti covered stalls on the other end of the bathroom. Frank went willingly, taking the opportunity to slide his hand farther up the sweaty skin of Gerard’s back.

Gerard got them in the stall, then shut and locked the door behind them. There was a huge gap around the bottom of the beat up walls, and they were standing in some pretty dank looking water, but Frank didn’t care. As soon as Gerard looked at him again, Frank leaned forward and pulled him in for another kiss.

Gerard clutched at Frank’s shoulders, digging his fingers in, and Frank surged up against him. Gerard was incredibly hard against Frank’s thigh and that was all Frank needed, right then. He grabbed Gerard by the waist and spun him around to face the stall door, then pressed his body up against Gerard's back, thrusting his hips against Gerard's ass. Gerard arched his back and moaned when Frank mouthed at the back of his neck. Frank sucked and nipped at the soft, sensitive skin as they rocked against each other, panting a little in Gerard's ear.

Frank moved his hands to the front of Gerard's jeans, and popped open the fly. He shoved them down just enough to get his hands inside and around Gerard's dick. He pushed into Frank's grip and made a low, pleased sound. Fuck, Gerard was so hot. Frank had never had anyone turn him on like Gerard could. He wanted to pin him down and take him any way Gerard would let him, wanted to do the dirtiest things to him, draw out every moan and plea, work him over until he was a quivering, shaking mess in Frank's arms.

Frank gave Gerard's dick one last, firm stroke, then dropped to his knees behind him. The floor was disgusting and his pants were soaked within seconds, but he didn't even care. He tugged on Gerard's jeans until they were down around his ankles, then ran his hands up the back of Gerard's legs, encouraging him to spread them as wide as he could. Frank leaned forward and bit at the crease where Gerard's left leg became his ass, then soothed the spot with his tongue while he slowly dragged his thumb up Gerard's crack.

Gerard gasped above him. "Fuck, Frank... I.. what are you-"

Frank swept his thumb down again, Gerard's words choking off as he moaned instead. _Jesus fuck_ , Frank wanted to eat him out.

"I wanna eat you out," Frank said out loud. "Can I?"

Gerard moaned at the words, louder than he'd been before. He had his arms folded on the stall door, bracing himself against it. He was looking down and Frank leaned around to the side slightly so he could see his face.

"I... we shouldn't," Gerard answered. But he was breathing heavily and Frank could see it in his eyes, in his flushed cheeks, that he really fucking wanted it anyway.

"I know," Frank stressed, "but _can_ we? I'm clean."

Gerard sucked in a deep breath, then nodded, almost frantically. "Yeah, yes, me too."

Frank barely waited for him to finish talking before he was moving, spreading Gerard open with his hands, then licking him from just behind his balls and all the way up. And then again. He had his hands on Gerard's hips, and he could feel the tension in them as he slowly circled his tongue around Gerard's hole. Frank kept it up until he heard Gerard's broken voice practically gasp, "Frank, please, _please_."

He pushed his tongue inside and Gerard arched, pushing back for more. And Frank gave it to him, fucking into him with quick jabs of his tongue. He reached around with one hand to jack Gerard's dick while he rimmed him, and Gerard was rocking his hips back and forth between Frank's face and his hand, riding Frank's tongue. Frank fucking loved this; the texture, the taste, the beautiful, wrecked sounds Gerard was making, spit dripping down Frank's chin, the burn in his jaw as he fucked Gerard as deep as he could.

Frank felt it on his tongue when Gerard was about to come, his body clenching up tight. Gerard reached a hand down to his dick, gripping it around Frank's hand, and jerked himself off fast and tight and came with a muffled shout, his come dripping down onto their joined hands.

Frank pulled back and stood up on stiff legs while Gerard caught his breath. "Fucking hell, Frank," Gerard panted, looking back over his shoulder at him. Frank wanted to stop, to savor that wrecked look on Gerard's face, but if he didn't get off right that fucking second he was pretty sure he was going to die. He took a second to lift the hem of his shirt and swipe at his face and chin, the air of the bathroom cool on his sweaty skin. When he looked back up Gerard was staring at his exposed chest and stomach, his eyes moving down to train on the erection he knew was pretty fucking obvious. Gerard has his mouth open, panting, like he was _hungry_ for it.

He pressed against Gerard, his dick hard in his jeans rutting against Gerard's ass, and bit down on his neck. Gerard groaned and stretched, pushing back into him. "Yeah, I'm going to need you to fuck me right now," Gerard panted, and Frank was already bending down to dig in Gerard's back pocket to grab the condom and lube before Gerard was even done talking.

He maneuvered Gerard's thighs far enough apart for Frank to slick up his fingers and work them inside Gerard without a problem. His hands were filthy - covered in lube and Gerard's own come, but it was slick and fucking _incredible_. Gerard was so hot and tight, and Frank wasn’t exactly gentle as he prepared him. Gerard didn’t seem to mind though; he was practically fucking himself on Frank’s fingers by the end, panting heavily with his head pressed against the metal of the door.

“Do it, fucking _do_ it,” Gerard said, and he sounded so fucking rough, Frank could barely stop himself from getting Gerard off again with just his fingers, right there, fucking him on his hand, then maybe jacking himself off on Gerard’s ass, getting him all sticky and wet.

But then he felt Gerard clench around his fingers and, yeah, Frank wanted his dick in there so bad. The rest could wait for another time. He pulled his fingers out and slid on the condom (less cleanup afterward, at the very least) in one swift motion. He covered his dick in lube before pressing forward, up against Gerard’s back, stalling a little when he had his cock lined up against Gerard’s ass, when all it would take was just one push.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice fucking wrecked. He could feel Gerard shudder and try to arch his hips back.

“Fucking ready,” Gerard moaned, and Frank didn’t wait for him to finish talking before he pushed forward until he was in, until Gerard was tight and hot around his dick. Gerard’s fist slammed into the metal of the door and he gasped, bucking his hips and taking Frank’s cock all the way.

Frank tried to go slow but he was so fucking gone, so fucking gone on Gerard, and Gerard was making noises that made Frank never want to slow down, never want to stop. Frank fucked him against the door with a sweaty hand on top of Gerard’s on the metal, the other arm wrapped around Gerard’s stomach to keep him in time with his thrusts.

“Do it, fucking do it,” Gerard panted. “Fucking god fucking _damn_!”

Frank was sweaty all over and the bathroom was stifling. He could barely hold onto Gerard’s skin, his palm slipping messily against him. Frank moved a hand up to pinch at Gerard’s nipple, Gerard’s shirt and jacket pushed up almost to his armpits. Gerard moaned and arched his back, slamming his hips back against Frank’s, writhing between Frank and the grimy door.

“Fuck _me_ ,” Frank moaned, and moved both of his hands to Gerard’s hips so he could pull him back hard on his dick. They were making so much fucking noise, the slap slap of their skin, their wrecked voices carrying over the top of the stall door to whomever might have been in the bathroom to overhear. The next band was already playing on stage and Frank’s thrusts matched up to the steady thump of the bass drum that was currently shaking the walls of the shitty club.

“Come, do it, fucking come, Frankie,” Gerard said, and that was pretty much it, Frank couldn’t even get another word out before it was building all through his toes and skin and brain and his hips were slamming into Gerard again, sending them both up sharply against the door, his orgasm so hard, he thought he’d never be able to see again.

When it was over and he had ridden out the aftershocks, Frank couldn’t even move, could only just pant with his sweaty forehead pressed against the hot sticky leather of Gerard’s jacket.

Eventually, when he felt he could maybe breathe again, he pulled out as gently as he could. Gerard stuttered out a breath, his head still hanging down, and Frank tossed the condom in the toilet and flushed it away.

Gerard made a strange sort of rolling gesture with his body until he was back to facing Frank. His eyeliner was smudged and runny with sweat. His pants were still down and his cock was half-hard again. He grinned and it looked a little manic, but Frank couldn’t help but grin back.

Gerard reached out a hand and pulled at Frank’s shirt to bring him forward for another kiss. Frank wanted to stay like that forever, in that fucking disgusting stall, with Gerard sweaty and boneless and beautiful under his hands.

Gerard broke the kiss after a few minutes, and lolled his head back against the door.

“ _Totally_ better than going to a fancy dinner, right?” he asked.

“ _Totally_ ,” Frank said, laughing. He leaned in again and wrapped both arms around Gerard this time, ignoring the little part of his brain that reminded him Gerard wouldn’t be there for long.

*

They told Bob their mussed hair, dirty clothes and flushed faces were from being in the pit, but he rolled his eyes a little at them and got into the driver's seat without saying a word. Frank had to cover his mouth so he wouldn't laugh again.

They stretched out in the back of the limo all the way back to the hotel, worn out and sated and unable to stop touching one another, although it was more to just touch than to do anything in particular. They didn't speak during the ride or through the hotel and up to their room, just stayed pressed close together in the elevator, the operator completely ignoring the way Gerard's fingers were hooked through Frank's belt loops.

Frank's whole body ached by the time they got back to the room, the adrenaline totally worn off and the pit finally starting to sink into his bones. He took a quick shower to wash off the grime, then stood in front of the bathroom mirror to assess the damage - not too bad, but there was a cut on his forehead, a bit of dried blood at the corner of his mouth and some bruises around his chest. His hair was stuck completely on end (although that was all from Gerard).

When Frank came back into the bedroom, Gerard was already stripped down and in the bed. Frank paused, wondering if Gerard had already fallen asleep without him, which bothered him a little, although he wasn't sure why exactly. But then Gerard rolled over on his back towards Frank and gestured him to get in. Frank felt the momentary tension in his muscles melt away, and he climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around Gerard.

They lay there, holding each other close, Gerard's head resting on Frank's chest, Frank methodically smoothing the bits of Gerard's hair he could see. Frank wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew neither of them was falling asleep just yet. And neither of them was letting go. He had a sudden urge to know more about Gerard, to get closer to him beyond the rush of the week, beyond their deal. He was talking before he could even think to shut his mouth. "How did you get into this?"

Frank could feel Gerard go absolutely still, then he pushed back and turned enough to look at Frank's face. He didn't look angry, like Frank thought he would, just assessing. It seemed like he was deciding something, and once he had, he laid back down on the bed so that they were curled face-to-face on their sides, with their legs tangled together.

"I'm sorry," Frank said, feeling clumsy, like he'd completely tripped and ruined the moment. Gerard shrugged one-shouldered.

"It's okay. It's not like you set out to get your degree in this sort of thing," Gerard said. "Not really something that shows up at the job fairs."

"What did you do before?" Frank shifted even closer to Gerard, so that they were practically nose-to-nose.

"Art."

"Really?" Frank said, not totally surprised. He could see that.

Gerard nodded. "Yeah. I went to art school in New York. I was pretty good at it too, but I was also too drunk or high most of the time to actually get to class, so I flunked out in my first year. It was bad, but I didn't even care at that point. I was pretty fucked up."

"What kind of art did you do?" Frank asked. Gerard was actually opening up, telling him things. It felt like he had this one, quiet little moment to try and coax it out before the chance was gone forever.

"Paintings. Comic books. I drew a lot of dead people."

Frank cracked a smile. "I would have liked to see that."

"Yeah. I haven't drawn in years. Miss it, though," Gerard said, a little sadly.

"What about your family?" Frank asked. "How did you end up all the way out here?"

Gerard lowered his eyes a little to rest on Frank's chest, probably on one of the bruises. "I followed a boy. I wasn't popular in high school at all, too weird, but I got to art school and there were all these guys that thought I was something, you know? Or at least they just liked to have me around while we got high and fucked. First one who told me he loved me probably fucked me up more than the drugs."

"He came out here?" Frank asked. He wanted to punch that dude in the face.

Gerard nodded. "I was out of school and living with him because I didn't want to go home. I was just... really gross and messed up and totally gone for him, and he decided to come out here, try and do music, and I followed. Two months later he left me with the rent and the bills without a word. He just took his stuff and disappeared while I was passed out one night."

Frank _really_ wanted to punch that dude in the face. _Repeatedly_. "So what'd you do? Why didn't you go home?"

Gerard shrugged again. "I was broke and too proud, apparently. I pretty much fucked off without even a real good-bye to my family, and I know it fucking broke my little brother's heart. I just... I don't know. I couldn't put myself back into their lives when I'd made my own shithole, you know?"

Frank reached out and gently ran a finger up and down Gerard's forearm, down to his elbow and back up again.

"What's your brother's name?"

Gerard's face softened. "Mikey."

"You miss him?"

"Every day."

Frank was silent, but Gerard kept talking. "I worked odd jobs for a while, couple of fast food places and at a dry cleaners, but I always lost the job when I'd blow my paycheck on coke and miss too many shifts. That's how I met my roommate, though. Bert, he was friends with the guy who owned the bar behind the dry cleaners, and he was always around when I was in the back alley smoking."

"He do this too?"

"Yeah. He did it, made it sound easy and like I'd be making bank, you know? And it's not like I didn't like fucking. He needed a roommate, I needed a place and a job, it was meant to be."

Frank felt a little sick in the bottom of his stomach, like something was writhing down at the back of his lungs, just thinking about Gerard back then, fucked up and alone in the city. He wanted to pull him in and never let go, but he kept his distance and just kept gently running his fingers over his arm.

"Did it for a while, got some regulars, got good at doing what I had to do," Gerard continued.

"When did you stop doing drugs?"

Gerard sighed and pushed some hair out of his face. "Couple of years ago. Got really fucked up one night, made some really bad decisions. Woke up in an emergency room where a client had apparently dumped me, blood on my face and just, like, seeing crazy shit, couldn't stop crying and babbling about nothing. Total trainwreck."

"Jesus." Frank had to focus on the fact that Gerard made it out and wasn't still in that hospital. He was right here in Frank's bed, he was okay.

"Yeah," Gerard said quietly.

"So you got clean, or?" Frank said, gently pressing him to go on.

Gerard looked back up at Frank. "Yeah. Just couldn't do it anymore, you know? I felt so bad all the time. The hospital gave me some stuff, some numbers to call, places to go. There was this nurse there, I can't even remember her name, but she basically told me I had to straighten my shit out or I was gonna die, and I knew somebody would have to call and tell Mikey I'd died in some shithole back alley somewhere, and that was it, I just couldn't."

"How long did it take?"

"It took a while. Been totally sober for a couple of years, now. But it still sucks. It never really stops sucking. You do what you have to do."

"I think you're amazing," Frank blurted.

Gerard's eyebrows shot up. "What?" He sounded surprised. "Why? I haven't - I haven't done anything."

Frank fidgeted, trying to find a way to explain without sounding totally batshit. "I just - You've been through some really tough shit, and you're still here. That's something."

Gerard curled up a little bit closer to him. "Well, what about you? You're still here. How'd you get into this?"

"The job?" Frank asked.

"Yeah," Gerard said, moving close enough so he could fit his head into the space under Frank's jaw. Frank took a second to just breathe and feel the weight of him pressing close to his chest.

"My dad was a musician. Grandpa, too. Both drummers." If he closed his eyes, he could remember the smell of the first bar he saw his dad play in, how mesmerized he was by the way his hands moved, how the pounding of the bass drum made him think it was controlling the tempo of his own heart.

"Ran in the family?" Gerard asked, stroking a hand across Frank's collarbone.

"You could say that. My dad was always on the road, though. Left me and my mom for music, basically, when we got too much in the way. He always thought he was gonna really make it."

"That sucks."

"Yeah. I was about sixteen so it was pretty much the worst thing ever, or at least it felt that way. I was into music before that, had my own bands in the garage, wrote songs, got friends to play gigs with me, all that shit, but after he left I just - couldn't. He fucked it up, made me hate it." Frank took a deep breath, trying to keep the anger down. He'd spent a lot of money in therapy trying to get rid of the anger and guilt, but it hadn't exactly worked. "I had a pretty good head for business, though, if not the money part then the people part, and I threw myself into that instead. The music business was the easiest to get into for me, since I had a ton of connections from the Jersey scene. I didn't even care. It was just something I could use."

"What about your dad? Did he actually make it?"

Frank felt like he was going to throw up. He stared up at the ceiling. "No. I made sure he never did. He fucked my childhood, I fucked his career."

Gerard's hand stilled on Frank's chest. "How?"

Frank swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. "I moved up pretty fast in that area, and I basically got him blacklisted once I had enough pull to do it. Kept him in the same shitty clubs he always played in when I was a kid." Frank knew he sounded like the worst kind of asshole, but Gerard hadn't let go or moved away, so maybe he could trust him with this. "I was really angry, at everything and everyone. I didn't just fuck up his career because of it, I almost fucked up a lot of people's, including my own."

"The thing with Leto's band?" Gerard asked.

"Yeah, that was part of it. After that happened, I started going to therapy. I didn't want to be that guy anymore," Frank said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Gerard squeezed him a little tighter. "Have you talked to your dad since?"

"No. But he knows who I am, what I do. What I could have done for him." _And what I didn't do._

"Are you still angry with him?"

Frank paused before answering, actually thinking about it, waiting to see how it felt before he answered. "No, not anymore."

Gerard cuddled closer, yawning. "Well, maybe you should call him someday."

Frank's stomach churned at the thought. "Maybe."

Gerard yawned again and wrapped himself tighter around Frank. His hands skirted carefully around Frank's bruises, although how he knew where they were in the dark Frank didn't know.

"I'm going to sleep, now. Come with me," Gerard said, finally.

Frank just nodded. Gerard dropped off quickly, his breaths steady and even, his arm still slung over Frank's chest. But Frank lay awake for a while longer. When he closed his eyes he thought of the shitty club down the shore, where he'd gone one night in his best suit and watched his dad from the back, never leaving the shadows to show his face, to gloat properly like he'd always planned. He'd just downed his drink and slipped out the back alley to smoke nervously and dry heave once before leaving in his car and never looking back.

***

"Call him again.” Bert’s voice carried over to Gerard as he made his way out of the elevator and toward the front desk. "You should have let me talk to him. He misses my voice."

Bert was currently half sprawled on top of the desk, trying to look over the edge at Alicia’s computer, his ass up in the air. Gerard put a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh and paused behind one of the giant columns in the lobby, watching them.

"Sir, we already called him, he said he would be down momentarily," Alicia said, clicking away at something on the computer screen.

Bert leaned forward on the counter until his nose was smushed against the brass and exhaled. He pulled back and drew a picture in the condensation with the tip of his finger. Gerard would have bet his entire week’s pay that the picture was a dick. There were people around the lobby staring at Bert, which was pretty understandable since he was wearing a pair of short-shorts and a tiny t-shirt with a dolphin airbrushed on the back (jumping over a rainbow with the name 'Lizzy' in sparkle letters). He also had a barrette in his hair, pulling his bangs back into a spiky mess on the top of his head.

Gerard had never been so glad to see him.

He watched as an elderly couple tried to sidle by Bert to talk to Alicia, their eyes stuck on him, and Bert rolled his head on his hand and smiled one of his wide, lopsided smiles their way. "Hey, hey mister, I'll tell you what. Fifty bucks for a blowjob. For a hundred the wife can watch."

The elderly wife gasped and the husband looked horrified, his mouth gaping open and closed again. Alicia stared at Bert, either trying to think of what to say or trying not to laugh (Gerard suspected the pull at the side of her mouth meant it was the latter). Gerard walked across the lobby, and clapped a hand on Bert's back.

"Are you stealing my hair accessories again, Bert?" he asked. Bert rolled under his hand and grinned up at him, the elderly couple completely forgotten.

"I missed you and your stinky hair. I had to improvise my own."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Thanks. Let's go outside, yeah?" He nodded at Alicia and she nodded back, then turned to the elderly couple, already expressing reassurances to them about the quality of their stay.

Bert tugged on the hem of Gerard's jacket, once Gerard had pushed open the heavy back doors to lead them outside. "Don't _you_ look pretty," he said. "Like money. Like a suit of money. Crisp money. Crisp money you give to a stripper money."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, Frank's money. So don't get too used to it."

They made their way over to the big pool, nearly empty at this point in the morning. Bert immediately kicked off his shoes and sat down on the edge, sticking his bare legs into the water. Gerard crouched down next to him, but he sat cross-legged, keeping his legs dry.

"Took you long enough to come get the money, man," Gerard said, resting his head on his palm and looking over at Bert. "Thought you needed to pay off Richard?"

Bert shrugged. "One of his boys, Teddy, I think? Showed up last week in a dumpster."

Gerard froze. "Shit. Seriously?"

Bert raised his legs out of the water and wiggled his toes. "Yeah. He's been distracted. S'okay, though, I'll pay him today. He won't complain."

Gerard watched the light reflecting off the pool. He crushed an ant making its crooked way through the grout towards him. He didn't really know what to say. He didn't know Teddy, but still. He felt sick.

Bert squinted up into the sun. "So what are you gonna do now, man? Be a rock star? Can I be a talking head on your True Hollywood Story?"

Gerard shook his head. "Nah. I'm just pretending for Frank. There's no record deal at the end, or anything, just a nice stack of cash. I get to keep the clothes and Frank gets to keep his job."

"He gonna call you next time he's in town?"

Gerard shrugged again. "I dunno. He doesn't really like it here. Who knows when he'll be back."

They were silent for a few moments. A young family walked around the other side of the pool toward the entrance to the clubhouse. The mom was talking to the dad, chattering about something, but the toddler she was leading at her side was watching them. The little girl smiled at Bert, and waved, and he smiled and waved back.

"I did drag for him the other night," Gerard said, watching them walk past.

Bert kept waving until the little girl and her family were back inside. "He ask you to?"

Gerard shook his head and flicked the ant carcass into the pool.

"He was into it?" Bert asked.

Gerard tried not to smile too hard, but totally failed. "You could say that."

"God didn't give you those legs for nothing, you know," Bert said, sitting back on his palms. He looked over at Gerard. "You going with him back to whatever money cloud he descended from, or what? Gonna spend the rest of your days fucking unicorns and sleeping on quilts made out of money and having shopping montages set to hip-hoppin' beats, I know. It's okay. I will finally get a cat and all of my dreams will come true."

"No."

"Did he ask you to go with him?"

Gerard looked away, deliberately ignoring the pounding in his chest. "No. I don't know. Not really."

"What do you mean, not really?" Bert kicked his legs back and forth in the water, causing some water to splash up onto the concrete rim.

Gerard shifted back to avoid being splashed. "I don't know. I just - it wouldn't work out anyway."

"Why not? You love fucking unicorns. And money clouds."

Gerard crushed another ant under his thumb and didn't say anything.

"Gee," Bert said, turning more towards him. " _Gee_."

" _What_ , Bert, seriously," Gerard snapped, not looking at him.

Bert was silent for a beat. "Are you serious?"

"What?"

"You are serious. You _are_. You are fucking unicorn _in love_ with this son of a bitch, aren't you."

Gerard felt his stomach lurch. "What? _No_."

"You _are_." Bert pulled his legs out of the pool in a swift motion, splashing water all over Gerard's legs.

"Fuck, Bert, come on-" Gerard started, brushing off his pants.

Bert crouched up into his space, their knees almost touching. He slapped his hands down on Gerard's knees, holding him in place, and stared into his eyes.

"You son of a _bitch_. Why don't you go with him? You should," he said, his grip firm.

"I told you, he didn't ask. And besides, like I could leave you alone? Please, man, you'd never get the rent paid," Gerard scoffed, looking away.

"This isn't about me and the rent and my future cat. This is about you and your fucking unicorn love with your beautiful BMW boy. You should go with him."

"It wouldn't work!" Gerard said loudly, surprising himself. "Fuck, Bert, we're different people, we have- we have different _everything_. I'm not some fucking damsel in a tower, you know? I don't want to be. I don't need that. I don't _want_ to need that."

"So you aren't. You're too pretty to be in a tower, anyway," Bert said, leaning in closer to Gerard's face. "So what's the real reason?"

Gerard rubbed at his forehead and sighed. "Bert, seriously, when has this sort of thing _ever_ worked out for someone like us?"

Bert sat back on his heels, releasing his grip on Gerard's legs. He looked thoughtful. His face lit up in a second, though, and he raised his hands and shoulders in a lopsided shrug. "Cinder-fuckin'-fella, man."

Gerard barked out a laugh and rubbed at his eyes. "I think you mean Cinder-fuckin'- _rella_ , man."

Bert reached out and stole the sunglasses off Gerard's head, sliding them down over his own nose. "No way. All that dirt and ash and bursting into song, desperately wanting to get into the pretty prince's pants, and those great high-heeled shoes? Tailor-made for you, my friend."

"Does that make you my fairy godmother, then?" Gerard asked, watching him fondly.

Bert scoffed. "Of course I fucking am. Who else would be in charge of the magic?"

"I don't like to even think about it," Gerard said solemnly.

" _Exactly_ ," Bert said, and turned back to look out over the pool.

*

Alicia smiled at Gerard and gave him a little wave as he walked back through the lobby, after he'd said goodbye to Bert by the front door (and after Bert had stolen all the peppermints out of the dining room's hostess stand). He waved back a little, but didn't stop until he got into the elevator, slumping against the back wall as the doors slid shut.

He rolled his head on the mirrored wall and looked over at the elevator operator. The guy was looking forward, though, dutifully not paying attention to him. They were silent for a few floors and Gerard couldn't get Bert's fucking questions out of his head. Gerard really wasn't a fucking damsel in distress, so why did he _want_ Frank to ask him? He would say no if he did, but he wanted Frank to ask anyway. How crazy was that? He needed a reality check.

"You ever fall in love?" Gerard asked the operator, turning his eyes to the ceiling.

The guy didn't turn around. "Of course, sir. It's Hollywood."

Gerard snorted. They were silent the rest of the way up.

"Your floor, sir," the attendant said, and Gerard nodded at him as he got out and headed back to the room.

Gerard closed the heavy door behind him and tossed his jacket over the back of the sofa. He paused, looking around the hotel room. His stuff was all over the place, on every surface. Frank wouldn't be back 'till later, but he should probably start packing, get his shit in order to move out the next morning. It would keep him from thinking too much about the showcase that night, at the very least. He picked up a long white glove that was half-hidden underneath the curve of the sofa and ran the fabric between his fingers, trying to calm his nerves.

There was a heavy knock at the door. Gerard hesitated, the glove still in his hands, unsure of what to do. Maybe it was Alicia, or a maid, although Gerard thought they still had the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob.

He unlocked the door and pulled it open, ready to apologize for the mess, when -

"Mr. Leto?" Gerard said, eyes wide. "Hi."

Leto lowered his arm from where he was sprawled out against the door frame. He smiled, but it didn't make Gerard feel better. "Hi yourself, _Walter_."

Gerard didn't move but Leto pushed past him into the room. Gerard frowned as he shut the door behind them and followed Leto into the living room, staying a few paces back. Leto had his tie mostly undone and he looked absolutely awful, hungover or still drunk or just frayed around the edges, and he was staring around the suite with that same smile on his face. He was making Gerard feel on edge, just being there in his and Frank's space.

"What a place, eh," he said, running his hand over the back of the sofa and skimming his fingers over Gerard's jacket. "He always got the best."

Gerard was silent, hoping that if he didn't say much, Leto would go away sooner.

Leto turned and leaned against the back of the sofa. He watched Gerard fiddle with the glove and then looked up at his face. "Frank around?"

"He's at the showcase, setting up," Gerard said, tossing the glove onto the side table and shoving his hands into his pockets. "He'll be home later, though. I'll tell him you stopped by."

Leto laughed. It was a weird, harsh sound. "This isn't a home, _Gerard_. It's a _hotel_ room. I'd think you, of all people, would be familiar with that."

Gerard clenched his hands in his pockets and didn't breathe. Leto _knew his fucking name_. Shit.

Leto pushed off the sofa and walked towards him, stopping until they were practically toe-to-toe. Gerard didn't flinch. Leto reeked like a bar.

"Walter? _Really_? Did he think anybody was going to fall for that? You should have been more careful where you spread your legs, you think you're far from the gutter up here but it was only a matter of time before somebody recognized you, _Gerard_ ," he said, spitting his name like a curse. Gerard looked away, over Leto's shoulder.

"I never claimed it was my real name. I said it was a stage name right from the beginning. That's not a crime."

"Yeah, but being a _whore_ is, Gerard," Leto said. "Last time I checked that is, but, maybe the rules have changed, might have to double check it down at the station, hm, see what they say-"

Gerard jerked back and started walking towards the kitchen area, away from Leto. He was going to be sick. He had to keep calm, keep it together. Leto didn't know anything, didn't have _proof_. Gerard didn't have a record, at least not anything from the past few years, but there were things there, things he could find, things he'd maybe already found-

"Gerard!" Leto called, following him. "Don't you walk away from me."

Gerard almost stopped in his tracks. "I have nothing to say to you," he said, gripping the edge of the counter. "Frank'll be back soon, and -"

"And _what_ ," Leto spat, "he's going to put you on stage and make you a star? Make a fool out of me? You're fucking _scum_ , and like hell I'm going to let someone like you take this away from me."

Gerard felt like his insides were rattling around, like his heart was beating against his ribcage. He circled around the little island, keeping Leto on the other side. Leto kept in step with him.

"I'm not taking anything away from you. You never had that spot to begin with. I'm just-"

"Turning a _trick_?"

"Doing my _job_ ," Gerard snarled.

"Yeah, well, maybe your job shouldn't involve fucking people for money," Leto spat.

"Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn't pretend your job _doesn't_ ," Gerard spat back.

Leto lunged for him. Gerard ducked out of the way but caught his side on the edge of the counter and bounced off, grasping for balance. Leto got his hands in the back of his shirt and yanked, spinning him around and decking him square in the face.

Gerard hit the ground and gasped. He twisted in Leto's grasp, kicking him where he knew he'd get him square in the dick, his heavy boots grinding in. Leto cried out and fell back, but when Gerard went to scramble up, Leto lunged for him and pulled him back down again. Gerard hit the tile hard.

"Don't you even _think_ about it, you son of a bitch," Leto said, wheezing.

Gerard kicked at the hands on his ankles again, but he couldn't see very well with the way his head was pounding, and then all of a sudden Leto's grasp on his ankles was gone. Gerard pushed himself up and spun around, gasping.

Frank had Leto by the neck. He threw him back onto the floor of the kitchen and then just sort of collapsed right on top of him, Frank's thighs holding Leto down as he punched him in the face.

"Frank!" Gerard shouted, panting. Frank looked manic, crazy, beating the shit out of Leto while still dressed in his business suit, his briefcase tossed to the floor beside them. It didn't make sense. It didn't work.

Gerard sort of dazedly watched the pull of his shoulders, Leto grappling back and swinging at his face, missing, Frank holding Leto's head in his hands as he headbutted him down into the tile floor.

"Frank, _stop_ ," Gerard cried, falling forward and wrapping his arms around under Frank's armpits, holding him back. "You're going to fucking _kill_ him."

" _Good_ ," Frank spat, and there was blood in his mouth.

Gerard yanked at him until they both went toppling back. Frank was up again in a second, going for Leto, but this time he just grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him to his feet.

Leto was bleeding, his lip split and his eyes already swollen. "Iero, you-you sonofabitch, I'll-"

"You'll get the fuck out of here _right now_ ," Frank said, his voice low. The blood on his knuckles stained Leto's starched collar. Jesus Christ, this was insane.

"You think Patrick, you think, you think _Pete_ won't care, won't care about your fucking _whore_ -" Leto staggered.

"You really think they'll believe _you_ ," Frank spat. "Try me. Just fucking _try_ and bring me down, and I'll really show you what I can do," he said, shaking Leto a final time.

Frank shoved at Leto until he almost toppled over, practically tossing him to the door. Gerard hung back in the doorway to the kitchen, his hand pressed to the bruise on his cheek. Leto met his eyes.

"This isn't the end of this," Leto began, but Frank slapped him across the face, _hard_.

"Don't you even _speak_ to him," Frank said, and jerked the door open until Leto practically fell backwards out of it. Frank slammed the door and stood there, his back still to Gerard, head hung, panting.

Gerard didn't move. "You slap like a girl." His voice came out quiet.

Frank didn't say anything. He kept his hands on his hips and pressed his forehead against the door, half-bowed, still breathing deep.

Gerard took a step closer, then stopped. "Frank."

Frank turned quickly to face him, staring him right in the face. Gerard's hand flinched over his bruise. Frank took three huge steps toward him and pulled his hand away, fingers skirting over the mark. Gerard flinched again, a little freaked out by the intensity in Frank's eyes.

"That son of a _bitch_ ," Frank said. He still looked manic. There was blood on the side of his face and Gerard wanted to rub it away, but he didn't really want to know if it belonged to him or Leto.

He pulled back a step. "I could have taken care of him," he said.

Frank's hands dropped down to his sides. "He punched you in the _face_."

"Yeah, and then I kicked him in the crotch and you nearly headbutted him through the floor."

Frank stepped back a little, watching Gerard's face and frowning. "You're angry with me."

Gerard rubbed at his head. "I'm not _angry_ , I'm just. That was _crazy_ , Frank." Seriously fucking crazy. This was a side of Frank Gerard hadn't expected, and he was pretty sure he never wanted to see it again.

"Would you have preferred I let him beat the _shit_ out of you?" Frank asked. "You're okay with _that_?"

"I would have preferred none of that had happened _at all_ ," Gerard said. "How did he know? He _knew_. He knew what I do. I don't have a police record for that."

Frank blinked at him. "He knew?"

"Yes, Frank, he fucking knew." Gerard felt like he was going to be sick. "Did you tell him?"

Frank looked furious. "Of course I didn't tell him."

"Then how did he _know_ , Frank? You sure you didn't tell one of your business buddies? Over a drink? Or maybe you had to put that in one of your contracts to cover your ass?" Gerard really fucking hoped Frank had the right answer here and that he hadn't been wrong about him this entire time.

"I didn't _tell_ him. Why are you angry with me?"

"I just got called a whore, punched in the face, and had to stop you almost killing a guy. I'm having an off day," Gerard spat, walking away from Frank and into the kitchen. There was a smear of blood on the floor where Frank had pinned Leto down. Gerard stepped over it and yanked open the freezer to grab a bunch of ice cubes and fumbled them into a dish towel.

Frank hovered in the doorway. "It - It must have been Morris. He was talking to Leto the other day at the office, and he got busted with a girl from the Boulevard area a while ago, I don't know. Maybe he told Leto, maybe he recognized you, I don't _know_ but it wasn't me. I'm not sorry I beat the shit out of Leto. I'm just sorry I didn't get back sooner. He can't just _do_ that to you, fuck with you like that."

Gerard twisted the ends of the dish towel together and pressed the whole thing to his face. He could already feel it swelling. He wanted to believe Frank about Morris, he did, but he'd let himself get comfortable and Leto had come in and pulled the rug out from under him like it was nothing. He glanced back at Frank. He was still bloody and rumpled, but he looked smaller, deflated. Gerard was still keyed up, though, and his hands shook around the towel. He hoped Frank couldn't tell.

"Yes, well, a lot of guys _fuck with me_ , Frank, and will fuck with me in the future, will _fuck_ me in the future, you'd think you'd have figured that out already, all in the business of being a whore-"

"Stop that. Stop acting like I'm the one who called you that," Frank said, taking a few steps toward him. "I don't get why you're pissed at me. I didn't tell anyone. I never called you that. I stopped that son of a bitch from doing god-knows-what to you, and you-"

"There's always going to be guys like that who think they can do god-knows-what to me," Gerard said. "You going to save me from all of them? Bash their heads into the floor?"

"Maybe," Frank said, looking at him with a weird expression on his face. "Why not? Come to New York with me."

Gerard pressed back against the counter for support, feeling like his heart just skipped a thousand beats. "What?"

Frank took a few steps closer. "I'm serious. You could- you could come with me tomorrow."

"And do _what_?" Gerard asked.

"You could sing. I could get you a contract, I have connections there. You're great, Gee, you deserve to-"

Gerard closed his eyes and shook his head. "You're being ridiculous, you don't owe me anything. I couldn't do that."

"So you're saying you deserve _this_?" Frank said, gesturing to the bruise on Gerard's face. "You want to stay here so more guys can do shit like that to you?"

"I don't want you to think you have to _save_ me." Gerard felt like he was going to fucking cry if Frank didn't stop trying to give him things he couldn't take.

"So, fine, I don't get you a contract. You could still come with me," Frank insisted.

Gerard huffed in frustration. "And do _what_ , Frank, what would I do-"

"You could just," Frank started, quiet. "Be with me."

Gerard felt like his whole body was shaking, but maybe it was only his insides. Or his brain. Or the floor beneath him. He squeezed the towel against his face but his fingers were already completely numb.

He looked down, and away, and definitely not at the expression on Frank's face.

"Gerard-" Frank started, taking another step forward, but right then his cell phone rang. He hesitated, his hand in mid-air to reach for Gerard, but then pulled it back to fish the phone out of his pocket. He turned away to answer it and Gerard stared at his own shoes, thank whatever god for the fucking phone. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep saying no.

"Yeah. Okay, great, yeah, we'll be right there. No, I know, I know, we'll be down in five minutes. Call them and tell them we're on the way," he said into the phone. He hung up and turned back to Gerard, the phone still in his hands. There was still blood on his knuckles.

"We have to go. Rehearsal's already started."

"You should probably change," Gerard said. Frank looked down at himself and then back up at Gerard, surprised, like he hadn't even noticed.

He left the kitchen without saying a word. Gerard waited a few minutes before dumping the half-melted ice into the sink and carefully folding up the dish towel over the rack. He went into the living room and picked up his jacket, shrugging it back on. He could see Frank in the reflection of the bathroom mirror through the door to the bedroom, scrubbing at his face with a washcloth, his shirt and tie already discarded and another suit laid out on the bed.

Gerard delicately touched the skin around his eye, testing, and then slid his sunglasses onto his face. Frank came out a few minutes later, a new tie in his hands. He hesitated, then started walking towards Gerard.

Gerard looked over at him and gave him a weak smile. "So that makes two of your ties I've ruined in a week, huh."

Frank didn't smile, but flipped the tie around his collar and started to do it up. "I didn't really like those ones, anyway," he said.

Gerard caught him as he walked by and gently pulled the ends of the tie out of Frank's hands to do it himself. "You're really terrible at this," he said, carefully evening it out and re-knotting it around Frank's throat. He gave it a final tug and smoothed it down against the front of Frank's shirt.

Frank watched Gerard's hands and sighed. "Yeah. I'm figuring that out." He turned away and grabbed his keys from the floor, where he'd apparently dropped them earlier, and held the front door open for Gerard. "Let's get this show on the road."

***

The space for the showcase was fucking incredible. Frank had been putting bands into the opening acts for years, but every time he was so wrapped up in working behind the curtain, he forgot just how much money Kingston Records had to spend on what went down in front of it.

Gerard disappeared into the dressing room almost immediately after they got there, ignoring Frank's tepid suggestion that they go check out the floor together. Frank couldn't really blame him. It was okay, though. It was going to be okay. They were going to be okay. If he just kept repeating that to himself, it would be. It had to be. Frank shoved his hands into his pockets so nobody would be able to see them jittering by his sides.

Leto was there, too. Frank knew he would be, but some little part of him had hoped he was vomiting up blood on a bathroom floor somewhere. But he was there, shaking hands with some of the upper-level label managers and pointedly not looking at Frank. His huge shiner did most of the glaring anyway, and Frank couldn't help but bite down on his lip so he wouldn't smile when one of the label execs laughed as Leto mumbled that he'd just fallen on his face.

"Frank!" Patrick called, snapping him out of his focus. "How you feeling?"

"Good, good as ever," Frank said, lying through his teeth and reaching out to shake his hand. "The place looks great."

"Thanks," Patrick said, smiling wide. "Pete really went all out this year. It's going to get some great press."

"Absolutely," Frank said. "Listen, Patrick. Thanks, for this. For taking a chance on me."

Patrick just smiled. "Pete doesn't take chances, Frank. There's a reason he's got this, _all_ of this. He knows what he's doing, even when other people think they don't."

Frank felt a little stunned. "Well. Thanks."

"I've known Pete a long time. He wouldn't have given the spot to you if he didn't think you'd earned it," Patrick said, squeezing his shoulder again. "We'll talk after, okay? We have some things we need to discuss."

Frank's stomach dropped down to his knees. "Okay," he said, hoping it didn't come out too uneven.

When Patrick moved away, Frank could see Leto glaring at him from across the room, close enough to have overheard. Frank just put on his best, smug smile, and gave him a flippant little wave. Leto's face turned even redder. It really brought out the color of his black eye.

Frank talked to a few more of the label guys before heading back to the dressing room to check up on his band. James was in the corner, flipping through the channels on the television and nursing a whiskey. Greta was perched on one of the oversized sofas, her feet tucked underneath Jepha's thighs. Jepha was sprawled back on the couch fiddling with his bass, Ray next to him, clutching his guitar case to his chest like if he relaxed for a second someone would steal it and kick him out.

"Hey guys, glad you're all here. And so god damned _punctual_ , for once," Frank said, unable to keep a straight face. This was good. They were good at this. It was going to be okay.

Jepha just scoffed. "Whatever, man, these things never start on time, don't play me like they do."

Greta shifted a foot to poke Jepha in the thigh. "I'm just glad you managed to get here before we started, this time."

Jepha waved a hand in the air. "Whatever, whatever. Everybody loves a big entrance."

Greta rolled her eyes but Ray didn't react, still looking terrified in the corner. Frank quickly moved over to clap him on the back, try and exude some confidence that this wasn't going to be a total fucking disaster.

"Glad you made it, man," Frank said.

"Glad I made it, too," Ray said, a little quieter. Frank squeezed his shoulder again.

"Any of you guys seen our lead singer?" Frank asked, trying not to sound worried.

James just pointed towards the back hallway that led behind the big stage. "I think he's throwing up in the dark somewhere. Or hiding. Or, I don't know, taking a nap or some shit. Either way, he's over there."

"Thanks man," Frank said, moving to head that way. "Back in a bit. Nobody run off."

James saluted him with his whiskey.

Frank found Gerard on the complete other side of the stage, back by the extra amps and the rigging set up that had to be rolled out for the fifth act. He was rocking back and forth on his heels a little, his hands clasped behind his back.

Frank wanted to reach out and calm him, but he kept his hands by his sides. "Gerard?"

Gerard jerked his head over his shoulder to look at him, then turned back without saying anything. Crap.

Frank moved up to stand next to him, mirroring his stance. "You okay?"

Gerard shrugged.

" _Are_ you okay?" Frank asked again. Things were obviously still tense from earlier, but Frank was pretty sure Gerard wasn't speaking to him right now not because of the fight, but because he was seriously nervous. "Seriously, are you alright? You look a little green."

"Oh god, don't say that," Gerard moaned, then darted away from Frank's side and into the men's room. _Shit_. Frank went after him, pausing on his way to let Greta know they would be right back and she should get the rest of the band ready to go on. He could already hear the first band keying up, and he knew they had to at least look smooth. If Gerard bailed on him... Frank couldn't even think about it, that's how bad it would be.

Frank found Gerard with his hands braced on the counter, leaning over one of the sinks, breathing deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth. Frank leaned against the wall and waited him out, his mind running over a million disaster recovery plans if Gerard told him he couldn't do it. Eventually, Gerard turned his head to look at Frank, a sheepish look on his face. "Sorry."

"It's okay, it happens to almost everyone."

"I bet it never happened to you."

Frank smiled ruefully. "You'd be disappointed then. I would get sick to my stomach every time, even if we were only playing for ten drunk kids in their parents' basement."

Gerard sighed and walked over to Frank, gently resting his head on Frank's shoulder. Frank's hands stuttered in the air but he wrapped his arms around Gerard's waist and held him while he breathed heavily against his neck. Frank didn't care if Gerard was just desperate for someone to hold him still, and not necessarily Frank. He could do this for him.

After a few minutes, Gerard whispered, "I haven't wanted a drink that badly in a long time."

Frank held Gerard a little tighter. Even though he knew what it would mean for his career if Gerard backed out now, Frank knew he had to say this. "Gee, you don't have to do this if you don't want to." Surprisingly, he meant it.

"No, no, I want to," Gerard said quickly. He lifted his head off of Frank's shoulder and sighed. "I do, I just...need to get over myself."

Frank moved a hand to rest on the back of Gerard's neck, relief rushing through him. "You're going to be great. Okay? Trust me. I'm a professional."

Gerard smiled a little, even though he still looked a little gray. Frank carefully brushed some of his hair back off his face. "And no matter what happens, Gee. Thank you for this."

Gerard ducked his head a little, not meeting his eyes, and Frank squeezed again.

"Okay. Let's do this," Gerard said, finally, lifting his head and exhaling. "Let's do this now."

"Okay," Frank said, and tried to tamp down the way his stomach flipped like he was the one going on stage. "Yes."

*

Gerard was great. He _was_. There was a moment, right before they started, where Frank thought the whole thing, this whole insane balancing act he'd tried so hard to keep afloat, was going to come crashing down around him. Gerard was at the front of the stage, the curtain down, the emcee's voice booming over the crowd, and his hands were jittering on the microphone. He turned away suddenly, and Frank saw it, knew in his gut that Gerard was going to bolt, but Gerard didn't. He turned away and stopped as soon as he saw Frank, then turned around again, like that was the only thing he'd been trying to do, to see Frank, know that he was there.

Then the curtain went up, Ray kicked off the first song, and they were off. Gerard turned back toward the crowd.

Frank could only watch from the side of the stage, hiding in the shadows and gnawing on his fingernails until the broken skin bled. But Ray hit the chords and Gerard was on, strutting around and belting it out, actually hitting the fucking notes. Frank couldn't believe it. This was going to work. There were a couple of times where Jepha missed a beat or Gerard forgot the words of the original songs or Greta shifted into the wrong key, but Frank knew. He _knew_ it. This was going to _work_.

They did a set of original songs from Greta and James' back catalog, all carefully repurposed for the set, and then ended with the cover of "Like a Virgin". Frank couldn't even hear them to know how it sounded, couldn't even really focus to know how they looked, he was so overcome with the rushing of blood in his veins that came with sheer and utter fucking relief so strong, he could barely stand up straight.

He had to duck back behind one of the rigs for a second, right when the band hit their final chorus, to crouch down, put his hands over his eyes and just breathe it out, calm his heart, stop his hands from shaking, his eyes from burning. By the time Ray had finished the solo and the curtain was coming down, he was back on his feet, no one the wiser, even if his stomach was still in knots, completely jacked up on adrenaline.

When the curtain crashed down they all cheered, and Frank could hear the roar of the crowd applauding and whooping outside, and the emcee directing them all back to the bar for drink specials. Gerard found him and pulled him into a hug, which was good because Frank was pretty sure his knees couldn't hold him up much longer.

"It's over, oh my god, we did okay, we did okay," Gerard said into his ear.

Frank fisted his hands in the back of Gerard's sweaty jacket. "You did _great_."

He only had a few seconds to cling to Gerard before the band was being directed out to the floor to meet everybody, and it seemed like every way they turned, someone else was slipping someone a card. Frank knew he had to go find Pete and Patrick, though. He was dreading it. Leto'd been there all night, hovering. There was no way he hadn't said something. But it didn't matter. Maybe Frank would lose his job. But he'd done it, he'd pulled this night off, and that was enough to carry him over to the back corner where Pete and Patrick were standing, grins plastered on their faces.

"Frank fuckin' Iero," Pete Wentz said, immediately pulling him into a hug. "You beautiful son of a bitch."

Frank awkwardly clapped his hand on Pete's back. "I try."

Pete barked out a loud laugh and pulled back, keeping his hands on Frank's shoulders. "Good job, my little padawan."

Frank couldn't help but grin. Patrick adjusted the frame of his glasses on his nose and took a step forward. "That was great, Frank. Really great. The singer was a little rough, but he's sure got some potential, huh? How long have you known him?"

Frank shrugged, feeling drunk. "Couple of days."

Pete laughed again, and pulled him even closer, slinging an arm around his neck. "Such an asshole, I love it. Listen, Patrick and I were talking, and, well, we love the band. The band was great. Your singer has definitely got some skills, but, well, we really want that one in the back. With the hair."

"Ray Toro?" Frank asked, a little stunned.

Pete and Patrick both nodded.

"He's amazing," Patrick said. "I don't know where you found him, man, but seriously, he blew the roof off this place. We want to talk about signing him. Immediately."

Frank felt like he was floating eighteen feet off the floor. "Yes. Oh my god, yes. He's amazing. I'm glad you think so. Can I - can I tell him? Can I tell him myself?"

"Absolutely," Patrick said, smiling wide. "We'll call you to set up the contracts in the morning, okay? You did a good job. Try to get some sleep. And not just in the chair in your office, this time."

"Yes. I mean, no. Uhm, yes. Thanks. I, uh, I'm going to find Ray, tell him the news," Frank said, apparently totally unable to make a complete sentence. He didn't really care.

Pete leaned forward to shake his hand again. "You're a natural at this, Frank. I don't know how you keep finding these guys, but just keep it up."

Frank could only nod. "Yes. Yes, sir, thanks. Absolutely."

The rest of the night was a blur of handshakes and pats on the back. It was worth everything, though, to have that one moment in the green room with Ray. He was carefully packing up his guitar, probably ready to slip quietly out the back, and Frank got to step in, and offer his hand, and give Ray the news he'd probably been waiting years to hear. Frank had told Gerard the night before that he got into this business just because it was the easiest thing he could do, but he'd been lying, even if he hadn't really realized it at the time. It was _this_ , this feeling of making someone's dreams come true. This was why he did what he did.

"Oh my god, thank you, thank you, thank you," Ray said, squeezing Frank up in a hug so tight Frank thought every bone in his body was going to break.

"My pleasure," Frank said. And it was.

*

Frank was so fucking exhausted by the time he and Gerard got back to the hotel, he could barely walk without weaving. He felt like someone had drained all the marrow from his bones and then wrung him out and left him to dry. And then stepped on his head. In _heels_.

The lobby was quiet and still as he and Gerard crossed through it to the elevators. Gerard hadn’t said much on the way back to the hotel, but it’d been a pretty insane day and he looked exhausted too. They were both beat. Figuratively and literally. Frank snorted. What a fucking _day_.

Gerard didn’t seem as upset with him now, or maybe he was just too tired to show it. When Frank had told him the label was going to sign Ray, he just looked fucking relieved. Things were still horribly awkward, though. Without the distraction of the showcase to delay things, there was just this _thing_ between them. Every time Frank opened his mouth to say something, he remembered the way Gerard looked at him in the kitchen, and his stomach writhed and ate everything he was going to say.

When they got inside the hotel room they both headed right for the bedroom, not even saying a word to one another. Gerard went straight into the bathroom and Frank sat on the edge of the bed, kicking off his boots and pulling at his tie. His ribs _ached_.

He went over to the floor length mirror in the corner and stripped off his shirt, turning to examine his sides in the low lamplight. There were bruises all around his sides from where Leto had swung at him while he had him pinned, including a swollen one right on his chest where he could almost see the knuckles. He'd been a little banged up after throwing himself around in the pit the other night, but now he looked like he'd been _pummeled_.

"Jesus," Gerard said behind him. Frank turned around quickly. Gerard was standing in the doorway to the bathroom, his hand pressed tight against the frame. The harsh light from the bathroom behind him threw his face into shadow, but Frank knew he was looking at the bruises.

Frank fought the urge to cover them up with his hands. Gerard crossed the room quickly and stood in front of him, his hands hovering in the air between them, not touching, but looking like he really wanted to.

Frank glanced up from Gerard's hands to his face and felt his breath catch. Gerard had cleaned off the make-up he'd put on before the showcase to cover up the bruise, and there it was again, swollen and colorful and bleeding over into the edges of his eye. It made every nerve ending in Frank's body surge with anger, but also made his stomach fill up with horrible, sickening guilt.

Gerard met his eyes, his face pale. "Frank, I'm so-"

"I'm sorry," Frank said, both of them talking at the same time. "Jesus, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry I-" Frank started again.

Gerard shook his head and finally brought his hands up to Frank's face, cradling his cheeks. His thumb ran over a scratch from Leto's ring and Frank winced involuntarily. Gerard pulled him closer and they met in a kiss, Frank wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close, the buttons from Gerard's shirt rubbing against his bare skin. Frank gasped as one of them dug into the bruises on his chest and Gerard just pressed closer, opening his mouth and sucking on Frank's tongue. It ached when Gerard dug his fingers into the bruise on Frank's side, but Frank moaned again, and Gerard pressed harder. _Fuck_.

Frank took a step back, towards the bed, but Gerard was there to match him step-for-step. They only separated for a second as Frank fell back onto the mattress, Gerard immediately climbing on top to pin him down to the sheets.

"Gerard-" Frank started, but Gerard just ducked his head to kiss one of the bruises on his stomach, the one that marred one of the swallows, turning it a mottled, ugly color. Frank couldn't help but groan as Gerard bit down and slid his tongue to suck on his skin.

"Jesus," Frank said, sprawling beneath him. Gerard yanked at the buttons of Frank's pants until they gave way, pulling back only enough to slide off the bed, taking Frank's dress pants with him. He yanked his underwear down too, so Frank was left naked on the bed while Gerard was still almost completely dressed. His face and chest were flushed.

Frank just lifted his hands to him, and Gerard crawled back up, sitting on his thighs. The denim of his pants against Frank's bare skin made him want to buck up, and he exhaled heavily out of his nose when Gerard wrapped a hand around his dick.

"Gerard-" he started again, but for once Gerard didn't seem too intent on talking. He pumped at Frank's dick and Frank bucked up into his fist, his hands up by his head, fisting in the sheets.

He was so close to coming, and it was too soon. Gerard had a thumb digging down into one of the bruises on Frank's thigh and he knew, he _knew_ that Frank liked it, the son of a bitch.

Frank pushed himself up, though, waving a hand towards Gerard. "Stop, wait -"

Gerard stopped immediately, panting. "What? Did I-"

Frank pulled him in for a kiss, not wanting him to worry. He just - he didn't want to come like this. He didn't want their last night to end then, with this. He pulled Gerard down with him, this time making sure to keep Gerard's hands off his dick. He threaded his fingers in Gerard's hair and tugged, and Gerard moaned like Frank knew he would, immediately back into this, just going with Frank.

Frank pulled him down until they were almost completely chest-to-chest, then shifted a hand to reach in Gerard's back pocket. Gerard bucked at the touch and against Frank's dick, and Frank gasped and shifted away so he wouldn't come.

He pulled out a condom and smiled when he felt the foil beneath his fingertips. He pulled back from Gerard's mouth and Gerard followed, trying to immediately recapture his lips, his own mouth open and panting.

As soon as he saw the condom he looked at Frank, and Frank nodded. Gerard started to move down to rip the packet and put it on Frank but Frank shot out a hand to grab his wrist. He just shook his head and looked at Gerard, and he could tell the minute when it clicked.

Gerard immediately yanked his shirt up over his head, and Frank laughed.

"Don't look _too_ hesitant, now," Frank said, as Gerard threw the shirt onto the floor and started yanking at his own fly. "I'd almost be worried you wouldn't be interested."

"Oh fuck _you_ ," Gerard said, almost a little gleefully.

"I'm _waiting_ ," Frank threw back, and Gerard dug a finger into the bruise on Frank's hip to make him writhe under his touch again. Frank didn't even mind, because when he looked back up, Gerard was stripped naked with the condom on his dick, the bottle of lube from the nightstand on the sheets by his knees.

"How long's it been?" Gerard asked, moving up to get between Frank's thighs.

Frank pointed dramatically towards the ceiling. "Don't you know you're never supposed to ask a lady her age," he drawled, and Gerard laughed and yanked Frank's thighs so that he slid down the bed towards Gerard, his skin pressed hot to the outside of Gerard's legs. He was already hot all over, on the tipping point, and completely exposed.

Gerard lubed up his fingers and leaned over, bracing himself on one hand as he circled around Frank's hole. He kissed Frank deep, which was good because Frank could gasp into his mouth and hide the sound when Gerard pressed in, immediately working his fingers around, stretching him out.

It'd been a long time. A long _long_ time, so long that the last guy who'd done this to Frank had been the guy from his chemistry class his first year of college, who'd wanted to try some stuff he'd seen in a porn once. It wasn't a particularly sexy memory, but Gerard had his dick rutting up against Frank's belly, his fingers inside him, so Frank pushed that away and tried to remember how to breathe.

Eventually Gerard pulled back enough to look him in the eye. "Okay?"

Frank just nodded, his words caught in his throat. He moved a hand down and grabbed around the base of his dick, clamping down enough to stop himself from coming at the feeling. Gerard pulled his fingers out, but immediately maneuvered Frank over so he was on his knees. He planted a kiss on the top of Frank's back and moved Frank's hands to grab the headboard. Frank nodded sort of frantically as Gerard shifted behind him, got into place, and then slid in.

Frank was pretty sure Gerard wasn't even in all the way, but he felt full up, like his brain was about to explode. "Oh my _god_ , fuck, _fuck_ ," he moaned.

"Yeah, there we go, you're good, yeah," Gerard muttered, pressing forward. Frank nodded again and bobbed his head.

"Do it," he gasped, and Gerard shoved in farther, setting up a rhythm Frank couldn't even think to try and match, not when his brain was full of mush. He just let Gerard fuck him, his fingers clamped down hard on the bruises on Frank's sides, sometimes moving to pinch his nipples. Frank didn't even touch his dick. Gerard didn't either, he just wrapped his arms around Frank's waist to pull him closer, so they were pressed completely skin to skin.

The headboard slammed against the wall and Frank laughed - how could you _not_ \- and rolled his back when he started to feel his orgasm building in the pit of his stomach. "Fuck, _fuck_ ," he said, gasping.

"That's what I'm _doing_ ," Gerard huffed, and Frank laughed again. Gerard pulled Frank in tighter and sort of shoved them both upright against the headboard, practically fucking Frank against the wall. He had Frank's hands trapped under his own against the wall, gripping tight, and Frank just spread his fingers against the wallpaper and pushed back as best he could.

Gerard was panting into his neck, his breaths getting shorter and harsher, and Frank couldn't last anymore, couldn't stop the roll of orgasm that built all the way from his toes until he felt his whole body shaking, jerking off the beat of Gerard's hips.

"Gerard - " he gasped, but Gerard just reached between Frank's hips and the headboard and jerked him through it, jerked him through the whole thing as Frank came all over his fist. Gerard didn't even stop, just kept pounding him, and Frank just pushed back from the wall and reached his arm back around Gerard's head, yanking his hair so Gerard lurched forward and then came, biting down on Frank's shoulder as he shuddered, crying out so loud Frank was pretty sure the entire hotel would hear, but he didn't even care.

Afterward, when Gerard had wiped Frank's come off the wall ("Gross," Frank complained, making a face, and Gerard just shrugged. "Tell 'em to fucking bill me," he said, which almost sent Frank into hysterics again) and gotten rid of the condom, they curled up naked under the covers, touching as much skin together as possible.

Frank might have been clinging a little harder than necessary, but he figured it was allowed. It was their last night, after all. He pushed it away, though. He didn't want to be sad right then. It'd been a good day. It'd been a _great_ week. Frank couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so good all over, even covered in bruises and exhausted down to his bones.

Gerard sighed and rearranged Frank's limbs a little better so he could fit his head into the space below Frank's jaw, his lips against Frank's pulse.

"Come away with me," Frank said, breaking the silence. Gerard didn't jerk away, or anything, just pressed a kiss to Frank's neck. He didn't even have to say anything. Frank knew it was a no.

He tried not to feel crushed, but he was glad Gerard couldn't see him close his eyes for a second, squash the disappointment down. He ran a gentle hand through Gerard's hair.

"Where will you go?" he asked. He couldn't help it. He needed to know he'd be okay.

"Don't worry, Frank. I won't go far," Gerard answered quietly.

 _But you should_ , Frank couldn't help but think, but he kept his mouth shut this time. It wouldn't make a difference anyway, and it'd been such a good week. If it couldn't be more, he wanted to make sure he could at least have this.

***

The alarm on Frank's cell phone started beeping at an obscenely early hour, but he had a meeting with Patrick to get to before he left this afternoon, so he needed to get up. Instead, he hit snooze and wrapped his arms back around Gerard, burying his face in Gerard's soft hair. He had no idea when or if he'd ever see him again, and Frank wanted to hang on, just a little longer. Fantasize just a little that Gerard had said yes, that Frank wasn't going to get up, pay Gerard for the week, then likely part ways with him forever. _Dammit_ , why hadn't he just said yes? It had been a long time since Frank had felt this _right_ about something that wasn't music, and he had gotten really used to shit working out for him. Frank hadn't expected someone like Gerard to come into his life, ever, but he was here now and Frank really didn't want to let him go.

But the alarm beeped again, and this time Gerard woke with it. He moaned and stretched, his body pressing up against Frank's as he did. It just made Frank's desire to hang on and never leave the bed that much stronger. Frank sighed and Gerard lifted his head to look up at him. "Time to get up?" he asked.

Frank nodded, and had to work to keep his voice steady. "Yeah, time to get up." Which also meant time to go. It went unspoken, but Gerard seemed to get it, since he got up and disappeared into the bathroom, then came back out again and started digging around in the dresser for some clothes. Frank watched from the bed for another minute, then got up and got in the shower.

*

When Frank was finished getting ready for his meeting, he went out into the living room as the bellhop was leaving with some of Gerard's bags. Even though he knew this was going to happen, Frank still felt his stomach drop when he saw that Gerard was all ready to go. Except for getting paid, of course. Frank went over to his briefcase on the desk and got out the envelope he had put in there yesterday. They had agreed on ten thousand but there was actually fifteen in there. Gerard would probably get pissed off, but whatever. Frank's card was in there too; if he wanted, he could call Frank and bitch about it later. Frank would tell him it was a tip or something.

He walked back over to where Gerard was standing near the open door. Frank could see that the elevator was waiting for him, but the operator had the courtesy to wait inside. Frank handed Gerard the envelope, and Gerard held it for a moment, but then instead of counting it, he just put it in his jacket pocket, his eyes downcast. Frank wasn't really sure what to say, but he needed to say _something_. "I just... I just wanted to thank you."

Gerard gave him one of those looks, where it seemed like he was amused but endeared at the same time. "For what?"

Frank just shrugged. "For everything."

Gerard smiled a little and ducked his head. "You too, Frank."

They stood there in awkward silence for what felt like hours, but was probably only a few seconds. When Frank couldn't stand it anymore, he said, "My card is in the envelope, by the way. So, you know. If you needed anything, ever. Or just wanted to talk, or. Well, anyway, you can call me."

Gerard smiled, but it looked a little pasted on, then he bent down to pick up his last bags and walked toward the door. Frank followed him and Gerard paused before he walked out of the room and just said, "Take care of yourself."

Frank knew his smile was a little sad. "You too."

Gerard hesitated, then he reached up and pushed a stray lock of hair behind Frank's ear. "It's been a pleasure, Frank Iero."

"You too, Gerard-" and Frank stopped. He didn't actually know Gerard's last name.

"Way. Gerard Way."

Frank stretched up to kiss Gerard's cheek, then stepped back again. "It was a pleasure for me too, Gerard Way."

And then Gerard walked into the elevator and out of Frank's life.

***

Gerard dropped one of his bags to the floor of the elevator so he could shift the strap from one shoulder to the other. The strap was cutting into his skin. Who knew shoes could be so fucking heavy?

The elevator attendant turned his head a little at the noise, but kept his body facing forward. “You're leaving us today, sir?”

Gerard picked the other bag back up off the floor and slung it over his shoulder, readjusting the weight against his hip. “I’m afraid I am.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”

“I am too,” Gerard said, sighing. The elevator doors slid open in front of him and he moved to exit, turning back slightly to meet the attendant’s eyes and dart a glance to his nametag. “Thanks for the ride, James.”

“It’s Jim, actually. We hope to see you again soon,” he said, and smiled as the doors started to close again. Gerard gave him a little salute and then turned to trudge back to the front of the lobby. His other bags had already been loaded into the car, apparently, and there was just him left to be shuttled away.

Alicia was working behind the desk when he rounded the corner, frowning down at something on her computer screen. He walked over and curled his arms all the way over the top of the countertop, lifting himself up on his toes towards her.

“What in the _world_ could be making you make that expression?” he asked, trying to peer at the screen. “Haven’t you heard? I’m getting out of your hair today. You should be all smiles.”

“I did hear that, actually,” Alicia said, keeping her eyes to the screen but smiling slightly. “Although I’m afraid that won’t help me with this wedding party who is arriving in the next hour and apparently doesn’t exist in our records.”

“Ouch.”

Alicia sighed. “You have no idea.”

Gerard darted a look over his shoulder. Bob was waiting outside, leaning against the limo, his arms crossed over his chest. He saw Gerard and nodded, and Gerard nodded back. He turned back to Alicia and tapped a little beat out on the marble.

“Well, Alicia. It’s time for me to go. Good luck with your mystery wedding party. And, you know. Thanks. For everything. You’re pretty cool.”

Alicia met his eyes, then, and smiled back. She really was beautiful. She extended her hand over the counter towards him to shake, and he gripped it firmly. A bit of color caught his eye, though, and he held on to her hand as he used his other hand to push up the sleeve of her uniform jacket.

“Is that a _tattoo_ ,” Gerard hissed gleefully. “Oh my God, look at you, how far up does that go-"

"Stop, stop!" she hissed back, yanking her hand back. "You are going to get me in so much trouble."

Gerard grinned back at her. "It's a whole sleeve, isn't it. You have a whole sleeve under that pretty pressed uniform of yours."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, trying to look stern but completely and utterly failing. "I know of no such sleeve. Or chest piece."

Gerard propped his chin on his hand and stared at her, grinning. "My brother used to be _so_ into hot chicks who could have beat the shit out of him. He would have _killed_ to have met you, you know. You are really something." His heart ached like it did every time he thought of Mikey, but he ignored it. At least for now.

"Well, make sure you bring him along next time you visit, hm?" she said, smiling a little and clicking away at her keyboard.

"Next time, you say?"

Alicia paused typing and looked up at him. "Not on business."

Gerard grinned. "Not on business."

The phone rang and Alicia reached out to pick it up, her hand gently resting on the headset. "Get outta here, Gerard. Your limo is waiting."

Gerard glanced over his shoulder. Bob looked exceptionally bored. "So it is. I have a limo waiting. How about that."

Alicia smiled at him and picked up the phone. "The Beverly Wyndam-Hillshire, Alicia speaking, how may I help you?"

Gerard hefted his bags over his shoulder and turned to go, listening to Alicia wrangle angry bridal parties over the phone until the glass doors slid shut behind him.

"You ready?" Bob asked, moving to open the back door.

Gerard didn't say anything, just climbed into the back of the dark limo and sank back against the slick seat, dropping his heavy bags by his feet.

***

The penthouse felt even bigger with Gerard not there. There weren't jackets and huge boots and white gloves strewn all over the place. But more obviously, _Gerard_ wasn't there, with his pretty face and his stupid laugh.

Frank allowed himself to mope for a solid seven minutes or so, and then got up to pack up the rest of his things. He was leaving his luggage here while he met with Patrick, but he'd rather just have it all together now. He didn't want to have to linger later. Frank glanced at his watch and saw it was time to go. He grabbed his briefcase and didn't even pause to look back as he headed out the door.

*

"Frank!" Patrick shouted, knocking Frank right out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, sorry, I was just-" Frank stuttered, fumbling with his pen and sending it rolling away from him on the conference table.

"Lost in space?" Patrick finished for him, sounding amused. He looked at Frank over his glasses and Frank felt like an idiot.

"Sorry," Frank apologized again, straightening his tie. He tried to get his mind back on his job, but it wasn't working. At all.

Luckily, Patrick wasn't pissed. "Look, I know it's been a long week. And I'm sorry we didn't sign your singer, but that Ray Toro is an incredible find. I'm surprised he hasn't already been scooped up by someone. You said he was playing in some little bar when you saw him?"

"Yeah, I have no idea why either. I've never seen anybody play like that."

Patrick smiled. "Neither have I. Like I said, amazing find."

He shut the folder of reports from the showcase and got up from the conference table, indicating that the meeting was over. Frank got up too and followed him over to the door. "Now, I want you to go back to New York and take a few days off," Patrick said, reorganizing some of the papers in his hands.

Frank raised his eyebrows, shocked. "Seriously?"

"Definitely. Then come back to work and keep finding me that undiscovered talent. You're the best at it," Patrick said, smiling wide.

Frank's smile was definitely not painted on. "Thank you, Patrick," he said as he shook Patrick's outstretched hand. Perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

"Of course," Patrick said, and nodded, like it was no big thing.

Frank was halfway down the hall when Patrick called his name again. He turned around and waited. "By the way, I had a call this morning from the manager at the Beverly, a Ms. Alicia Simmons? She told me that Leto had caused a disturbance at your penthouse yesterday."

Frank's stomach dropped for the second time today. _Oh fuck, here it comes, Patrick knows_ , he thought. Frank swallowed around the lump in his throat and tried to keep his voice even. "Yes, he did."

"Well, I can't have someone like that working for the company, and, to be honest, I've been looking for an excuse to get rid of that prick for over a year, so he's done. Fired him this morning. He always brought in crappy talent anyway. Just thought you should know!" And with a little wave to Frank, he closed the door.

Frank stood in the hallway for a second, completely dazed, then walked to the elevator and pressed the button. He waited until the door was safely shut before throwing up victory arms.

***

Gerard slumped back on his tiny bed, his sheets still smelling as piss-awful as they did last week. He stared up at the Jabba the Hut water stain on the ceiling.

"Did you miss me?" he asked. He suspected it hadn't. He sighed and looked around the room at the shit strewn everywhere, his clothes crumpled up and shoved into corners, Bert's weird piles of cool junk he'd found around the city scattered over every surface. It seemed disconnected from him, like it was someone else's life. He felt hollowed out inside. _Lonely_. He hadn't felt lonely - hadn't _let_ himself feel lonely - like this in years.

He missed Frank. He _ached_ with it. But Frank was on a plane back to New York and probably another penthouse (but this one without Gerard in it). The showcase had gone really well, though. Maybe they'd fly him back to L.A. sometime. He'd know where to find Gerard.

Gerard shut his eyes for a second. He didn't want to be here. And if he couldn't be somewhere else, with Frank, he just wanted to be _home_.

Gerard rolled over and fumbled with his nightstand to pull out an envelope from the bottom drawer. He sat the envelope on his stomach and pulled out the contents, rifling through them. They were all pictures he'd ripped from the wall above his bed on his last night in Jersey. There was still scotch tape clinging to the edges. He folded the tape gently over the back and ran his thumb around the sides. He felt heavy all over, like there was lead in his limbs.

The last picture was one of him and Mikey from high school, looking awkward and bored and dirty in their school uniforms, Gerard's mouth half-hidden by the cigarette in his hands and Mikey's arms crossed over his chest, their knees quietly pressed together.

He ached, then, so deep it was hard to breathe. He fished in his pocket and pulled out his phone, flipping open the top and scrolling down to the name. _Mikey_. His thumb hovered over the button for only a second before he was pushing down. He probably wouldn't answer. Maybe it wasn't even his number anymore. It'd been years. Maybe he'd just hang up on him anyway. He closed his eyes and held the phone to his ear.

Mikey picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"

Gerard wanted to throw up and cry all at the same time. He couldn't get his voice to work.

"Hello?" Mikey said again, sounding bored. Gerard could hear him sigh, about to hang up, and managed to make himself choke something out.

"Mikey-" he said, and he could hear Mikey inhale sharply.

"Gerard?"

"Yeah."

Mikey was silent for a while. Gerard could picture him, probably still at the record label at this point in the day. If he still worked there. Surrounded by records, his glasses slipping down his nose, people walking by and waving and him ignoring them completely. "Where are you?"

"Los Angeles."

"God, Gerard-"

"Are you still in Jersey?"

"Yeah. Yes. At Eyeball. I'm at Eyeball."

Gerard smiled.

"Are you hurt?" Mikey asked, quiet. Gerard could hear phones ringing behind him in the background.

"No, no. I'm good, Mikes. I'm really good. I'm - I'm coming home."

"When?"

"Soon as I can. Today. I'm just. I'm coming home. Can you come get me from the airport? I'll call you when I have a flight."

"I'll already be there," Mikey said. "Can I - can I tell mom?"

Gerard had to press his hand to his eyes to stop them from burning. He hoped his voice didn't crack. "Let's scare the shit out of her tomorrow, how 'bout. Give her another heart attack, for old times sake."

He knew Mikey was smiling. "Yeah. Absolutely. Do you have a place to stay?"

Gerard shook his head. "Not yet."

"You can stay with me. Until you find something. Or - however long. I don't care. You can stay with me, okay?"

"Absolutely," Gerard said, and it felt like something came loose from inside him, unclenched from around his heart. "Yes."

At that second Bert came in through the front door, a slice of pizza dangling from his mouth as he carried bags of something in each arm. He raised his eyebrows at Gerard and knocked the door shut with his hip, moving to dump everything on the counter.

"I gotta go, Mikey, I gotta go. But I'll call you from the airport, okay?"

"Okay. Gerard-"

"Yeah?"

"I'm just-" Mikey started. His voice sounded weird. "I'll see you soon."

"Yes. You too." Gerard couldn't say anything else, but he stayed on the line for a few more seconds before he actually managed to press the _End_ button. Gerard hung up and stared down at the phone in his hands, then up at Bert.

Bert folded his slice of pizza over and took another huge bite. "You leaving for real this time?"

"Yeah, I'm leaving," Gerard said, rolling over on the bed and up into a sitting position. "For real this time. Today."

"You leaving with him?"

Gerard shook his head. "Nope."

Bert stopped chewing. "You think he'd ask me?"

" _Bert,_ " Gerard said, frowning.

Bert shrugged. "Worth a shot."

Gerard rolled off the bed and got to his feet. He grabbed the envelope of pictures up off the bed and pocketed it. He was going to stay and pack, grab his stuff, but looking around the room there just wasn't really anything. He couldn't even remember where most of it had come from.

He went into the kitchen and pulled out his 'Not a Morning Kitten' mug out and put it on the counter. Bert followed him in there and hopped up on the counter, finishing his slice. "So," he said in between licking his fingers, "where are you going?"

"Home. Jersey. I haven't been back since I left."

"Whatcha gonna do?"

Gerard shrugged, moving to the bathroom to pull some of his stuff out of the cabinets. "I don't know. Start making it up to my brother. Go back to school. I used to be a pretty good artist, you know." He had way too many eyeliners. Why did he have so many eyeliners? He tossed most of them into the trash.

Bert hopped off the counter and came to lean against the bathroom doorway. "Well, you know, I'm no good at goodbyes, so, I'm just gonna, you know -" He jerked his head towards the front door. "Gotta go find me a new roommate."

"And _not_ just a cat," Gerard said, pointing at him.

Bert crossed his heart. He took a big step towards Gerard and awkwardly wrapped him up in a hug, squeezing them together so tightly Gerard could feel every bone in Bert's body pressed against his. Gerard squeezed back.

Bert pulled away quickly and ducked his head and then was gone. Gerard sighed and watched the door even after it had closed soundly behind him.

He took his old, ripped jacket from one of his luggage bags and laid it out on Bert's bed. He pulled the envelope of Frank's money out of his pocket and grabbed a whole chunk of it out, not even looking too quickly, not even thinking about it, and tucked it into one of the pockets. He folded up the rest and put it into his own jacket.

He leaned against the counter and pulled out his cell phone. "Hey. Yeah, hi, Hollywood Cabs? I need a cab to go to LAX. Yeah, as soon as possible."

***

"We hope you enjoyed your stay with us, Mr. Iero," Alicia said as she ran Frank's company credit card for the final room service charges.

"I always do, Alicia. And I believe I owe you a thank you for a certain phone call this morning."

"Well it was the least I could do for one of our favorite guests." Alicia said, and handed him back his card. "And for our guest's... special guest."

Frank laughed a little nervously. "Yeah, he was pretty special."

Alicia smiled kindly at him. "Yes, he was." She paused, biting her lip like she was deciding whether she wanted to say anything more. Frank held her gaze until she made up her mind. "You know, Bob also drove him home this morning."

Frank's hands stilled on the counter. He wasn't sure how to respond to that, wasn't sure if he should do anything with that information, so he just smiled and nodded his understanding. He could process it later.

"Have a safe trip, Mr. Iero."

"Thanks, Alicia," he said, and he hoped she knew how much he meant it.

Frank made his way across the gleaming lobby and outside to Bob's limo. He collapsed into the back seat and when Bob asked, "LAX, sir?"

Frank responded with, "Yeah," without even thinking about it. He leaned his head against the window and watched the city pass him by, letting his thoughts wander. Of course, they wandered right back to Gerard. Frank slumped down further against the window and shut his eyes. He wondered what Gerard was doing right now, where he was, where he was going to go, what he was going to do.

When they turned down another street, Frank saw two men walking their dog and holding hands. He stared until they had passed them by, then he leaned back against the seat.

"What the fuck am I _doing_?" Frank asked out loud. He looked around the limo frantically. They were going the wrong way. This was all the wrong way.

"Bob!" he called out.

"Yes, Mr. Iero?" Bob said, tilting his head to show he was listening.

"Do you remember where you dropped off Gerard this morning?" Frank asked, crawling forward in the limo so he could sling his arm over the front partition to the driver's area.

"I do," he said, cocking his eyebrow at Frank a little. He probably did look pretty manic.

"Would you take me there please?"

Bob's eyes didn't normally give away much, but he almost split his face with a grin when he said, "Of course, Mr. Iero. Hang on!"

Bob pulled the limo into an impressive U-turn and honked back at every car that screeched at them. Frank hung on for dear life and tried to remind himself to breathe.

As they headed into parts of town Frank wasn't as familiar with, he found himself recognizing the area as the place where he got lost and met Gerard. They passed a little flower stand and Frank got an idea. "Stop, Bob, please!" he yelled up to Bob. The car jerked to a stop, and Bob turned to look back at Frank.

"What did I do that for?"

Bob's eyes were really fucking blue, and intense. Frank felt a little sheepish. "Sorry, I just... there was a flower stand just back there, and I thought..."

Luckily it seemed that Bob was some kind of romantic, because he said, "Right, good idea," and backed the limo up so Frank could get out.

As it turned out, most of the bouquets were really crappy. Mostly carnations dyed in garish colors or unopened lilies and wilted roses. He was debating which one was the least depressing when he heard a terrifying screech behind him. He turned around and saw the source of the noise was a cat that was desperately trying to get out of the arms of some guy walking down the street in a pair of ratty jeans and a RUN DMC shirt. He was talking to another guy in leather chaps. _Leather chaps_. L.A., man.

Frank overheard him saying, "-and I need to get my beauty sleep so you better not wake me up before two and you have to treat Mr. Haberdashery like gold, okay, he's in charge of the magic too, and that shit is for serious-" as he passed by Frank, cuddling his cat and ignoring the screeching and clawing. Frank shook his head, grabbed a bouquet and paid, then hopped back in the limo.

***

Gerard was carefully wrapping his "Not a Morning Kitten" mug in newspaper when he heard a car horn. That in itself wasn't too remarkable, it happened all the time. That and sirens. But this car horn was growing louder and louder, like the car was just honking its way down the street. _Annoying_. Gerard was not going to miss this neighborhood. Eventually the honking car ended up stopped right outside the building, and wasn't that just fucking great. Gerard was about to stick his head out the window and tell whatever asshole thought this was appropriate to fuck off, when he heard his name. "Gerard!"

It sounded like Frank. It couldn't be Frank. He stared at the counter.

"Gerard!" the voice shouted again, and seriously, what the actual fuck what going on? Frank was supposed to be at the airport, on his way back to New York. He was supposed to be, but - but that was definitely Frank. Gerard's stomach did some weird twisting motion and he was pretty sure his hands started shaking. And sweating. And he didn't even care.

"Gerard!" Frank yelled again, and this time Gerard managed to get his body to move so he could stick his head out the window, and yes, there was Frank, looking hot but totally, absolutely fucking ridiculous, standing on the roof of Bob's limo in his suit, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"Frank?" Gerard yelled back. "What are you doing?" Because seriously, _what was he doing_?

Instead of answering, Frank hopped off the limo and over to the rickety old fire escape that led up to Gerard's window. "Are you crazy?" Gerard yelled down at him, because while this was all very romantic, he didn't want Frank to accidentally kill himself.

"I'll be fine," Frank shouted back as he yanked the rusty old ladder down. Gerard stepped out onto the top level to help steady it. Frank had the ladder down and was climbing, the flowers clutched in his mouth. Gerard had to cover his own mouth so he wouldn't laugh out loud at Frank, at them, at himself, at this whole fucking thing.

When Frank got to the first level, he took the flowers out of his mouth and panted a little. "You had to live on the top floor, didn't you?"

Gerard just smirked at him. "I always get the penthouse, baby. Thought it'd make you feel more at home."

Frank laughed, then put the flowers back in his mouth and kept climbing. He got to the second landing and rounded the corner too quickly, catching his tie on a jagged, broken part of the railing. He stumbled and his tie held taut.

Frank stared down at it. _"Seriously_?" he said, disbelieving.

"You're really not very good at this, are you," Gerard called down.

Frank stared up at him. "Yeah, I'm figuring that out." He was flushed and sweating and the flowers were crumpled and bent and his fancy tie was caught on the railing and he was the most wonderful thing Gerard had ever seen in his entire life.

"You need some help down there?" Gerard called.

"No, no, I got it. I got it!" Frank said, gripping his tie and ripping it clean in half with a yank, leaving the bottom half to rot on the broken railing.

Frank finally made it up to Gerard's platform and Gerard was there waiting for him. Frank got himself steady, then held out the flowers for Gerard. "I'm sorry they're not nicer."

Gerard just stared at the tiny bouquet as he took it from Frank. No one had ever given him flowers before. The bright blue and pink and purple carnations could have been two dozen roses and Gerard would have felt just the same. He hoped he wouldn't explode. It would totally ruin the moment.

"They're perfect." Gerard felt like he should say something else, but all he really wanted to do was grab Frank by his stupid ripped tied and kiss the hell out of him, so he did. Frank went willingly into the kiss, moaning against Gerard's mouth, his hands fumbling to grasp Gerard's waist.

Frank broke the kiss on a gasp. "So wait, is this a yes? You'll come back with me?"

Gerard couldn't help the stupid grin from spreading across his face. It had never been that he didn't want to go. It had been a lot of other things that seemed completely inconsequential to having Frank there, looking into his eyes and wanting him, just like this. "Of course it's a yes. But-"

"But?" Frank said, eyes wide, hands stilling on Gerard's sides.

Gerard rolled his eyes at him. "Not like that. We just - I want to see my brother. First. We have to go to Jersey first."

Frank exhaled and spread his hands wide against Gerard's waist. "I love Jersey," he said emphatically.

Gerard grinned so hard he thought he'd pop, or maybe melt right through the rusted landing down the four stories to the street. "Good," he managed instead. He tried pulling Frank back in for another kiss, but Frank stayed put, a playful look on his face. "What?"

"I thought you said you didn't want me to save you?" Frank said.

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Of course not, motherfucker. I'm saving _you_." Frank let out a startled laugh, but Gerard cut it off with another kiss. When he finished proving his point with his tongue and lips and teeth, he pulled Frank with him back towards the open window.

"Now come on, this is the third tie I've helped you ruin in a week and I've got just the thing to replace it with." As he climbed back in his window with Frank right behind him, and the future in front of them, Gerard couldn't help but laugh as he thought _maybe I'm Cinder-fuckin-fella after all_.


End file.
